


Finding a Connection

by OhNovi



Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Coffee Addict Tony Stark, Depression, Fluff and Angst, FrostIron - Freeform, Good Loki, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki and Tony in a cabin, M/M, Mental Sanctuary, Mind Control, Mind Meld, One big beautiful bed, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison, Sad Loki, Sad Tony, Sick Tony Stark, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Being Tony, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8970112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNovi/pseuds/OhNovi
Summary: When Loki is tricked into taking an excursion to Midgard with Thor he is stripped of his powers and faced with a dying Tony Stark. In an effort to save his own skin, Loki uses Thor as a vessel to trap his own mind and the mind of Stark in another dimension while he bides time to fix the mortals poisoned body.Authors Note: This story will be explicit, warnings will change accordingly.Expected Update: May 2018





	1. One prison to another

It was both loud and silent. The eerie stillness of the night clung to the prison like moisture absorbing all sounds, even the ones reverberating from the grand halls above. Each cell was dimmed and void of movement; the occupants long since asleep. Yet his mind stayed up, willing him awake over and over with the haunting image of Thor’s face looking down at him, arm outstretched.

He had said goodbye to a lot of things, in the moment he let go. It was not in a revelation that he decided but in slow contemplation. In watching carefully; the way others acted around him and the way they treated his once-brother. The shadow he had (for so long) fought to overcome, consumed him. In one chance encounter his own heritage came crashing down, and he finally knew just how small he really was.

He had said goodbye to his title that day, and to his kinship; goodbye to Frigga, his dear mother, to Odin. And to Thor. The very innocence that pushed him from the careful edge of mischief. It was in that fleeting moment he wondered whose fault it had really been. But then again, maybe he had known all along. In those few seconds he saw all he needed in Thor’s eyes. Unfaltering forgiveness, and undeserved guilt for a crime he was unaware he’d committed, and above all else; kindness.

No matter how deep his troubles, that kindness was always waiting. Risking itself for a monster that didn’t deserve another chance, and bringing about a subtle air of doubt for the older son among the Aesir, who now questioned his judgment. Loki was effectively overcoming his false-brothers shadow, but only by tainting it with his own. He was strong, in the moment he fell. Finding himself to be a small sacrifice for what would be a worthier rein than he would manage. And besides, it was exhausting; cleaning up after the Prince's rash behaviour. Even Hel would be more restful if he should fall so far. He sees the face again, wide blue eyes cast towards him in absolute dismay. He hears his name being called, and the hand reaching for him so pleadingly.

“Loki? Loki!”

A touch on his arm stripped away his mind and wrenched the imprisoned prince back to reality. For a moment his face bore a look of horror, breath shallow and needy. His hand dug into the arm holding his shoulder, and the fear melted into worry, which was covered in a mask of indifference and distaste. He peeled Thor’s hand away from him and sat up, putting distance between them.

  
“Sorry brother, I did not mean to startle you”

“And I am not startled. What is it you want with me, Odinson?” He weilded the surname like a sword, which cut through the balm of his self-deprecating thoughts, fighting anxiety with aggression. He didn't deserve the concern of Thor after all he’d done.

“The All-Father wishes an audience with you. I requested to come get you myself, so we might have words.” He leaned in. The urge to make contact was written all over the blondes face. Loki stood in retreat, refusing to allow himself the warm touch of another. It was only then that he noticed a new pile of his own clothes, folded neatly on the chair by his cot. A small golden flower lay upon them. A gift from his mother. A knot of guilt wound itself into his throat.

  
“Am I to be executed?”

“Brother!” Thor exclaimed in a rush, his emotions each finding themselves a place in his expression. Brow furrowed in concern, eyes wide in surprise, mouth open slightly in exasperation. He quickly snatched up the bundle (the small bud tumbled around haphazardly) and shoved it into Loki’s flinching arms. “We are going to a party. Staying locked in this cell will make you mad.” They shared a look, Loki questioning if it was too late, and Thor -hopeful as always- that there might still be salvation for his estranged brother. “I will wait for you at the top of the stairs. Don’t make our father wait.”

  
“Your father.” Loki murmured, as Thor shut the door roughly behind himself.

He was afraid of what this _party_ might entail, and if that word held the same connotation for the rest of the guests as it would for him. He knew lingering on these thoughts only drove his mind deeper into spirals of fear and self loathing, but he could hardly stop himself. He had slipped so far into it after only a moment, watching Thor shift away out of sight. He both fought and accepted the overwhelming tide, feeling hours had passed where only minutes stood.

When the feeling of shifting clothing in his weak arms drew his mind to distraction, he clung to it, gripping the fabric like a lifeline and pulling himself free. He would get dressed. He would clear his thoughts and leave his mind blank. 

He took his time with it. Loki freed himself of the loose sleeping clothes, throwing them over the back of his dressing screen, and letting his fingers feel the crisp hems of the clothes laid out for him. It took a moment to realize they were something newer from his collection. The Midgardian garb he had acquired to blend in Germany, paired with his softest scarf. He pressed the strip of fabric to his face, brushing it against his cheek. This scarf, he was certain, was the only thing worthwhile to come out of Midgard, but Norns was it a worthwhile thing indeed. He placed it carefully over the screen and turned to the rest of the clothing. One item at a time he unfolded and unfurled. Careful to tighten his belt over the narrow of his waist, and to watch himself carefully in the mirror as he knotted the tie under his chin. He brushed a hand over his smooth chin, skimming the sharp lines of his own face for a moment. His face was changed from what it had been. Sallow now, hollowing his cheeks and darkening his eyes. A stranger playing at himself, that same shape but now with a mind which focused on all things and nothing simultaneously. Urging him to slip and tumble into the abyss of terror which waited for him at the bottom of his thoughts. To the beast that lingered there and lured him with the sweetest words. He grabbed the scarf last and tucked it under the collar of his jacket.

He emerged from his cell not soon after Thor had left; taking a full thirty minutes to make sure every small thing on him was in its place. Each button on the undercoat turned to match its partner, his cuffs folded exactly even with each other. He placed the small bloom into the inner pocket at his heart and smoothed his hair before ascending the steep stone steps into the upper chambers.

His false-brother straightened at his arrival, matching their strides through the long quiet hallway.

“Thor, why is it that we are attending a party on Midgard?”

“Who told you?” He looked astonished until Loki pulled gently at the lapels of his foreign clothing, then Thor laughed loudly “It is more of a celebration than a party. Midgardians consume strange meads and create explosions for entertainment. There’s dancing too, sometimes. The Avengers were very kind to honour us with invitations.”

“Ah,” Loki misstepped “So this is to be my execution."

“No, Loki, must you be so bent on your own destruction? We are invited out of good faith.”

At this the creature in his mind hissed, turning his emerald gaze sharply towards Thor “And pray tell did they invite me specifically?” Thor paled “The very reason Odin is letting this pass is so that he may call my death a happy accident. Mortals have short, boring lives; it would not be so much of a stretch to assume that they would be less than pleased to see you have brought with you someone who wished more than an unpleasant dinner party upon their realm.” Thor's brow furrowed at the accusation.

“Our Father-“

“Your Father”

“Our Father,” he insisted “is concerned for you. You’re even paler than usual. You need to be in the company of others.” His eyes were kind, and because of that Loki felt his tongue hold fast. He didn’t snap about his heritage granting him the complexion of ice like he wanted to, but instead pushed open the immense doors they’d stopped in front of and strode into the main chamber of the AllFather, pressing his freshly bloomed frustration into his steps.

Odin sat upon his golden perch, looking down on his sons as they entered. The one-eyed gaze careful to evade Loki until he was unavoidably close, kneeling at the foot of the great throne. Their mother was notably absent, but Loki made a point to forgive her, as the hour was strange and the sun had no plans on rising for some time. He idly wondered if they’d return before she even woke. He felt a heavy pressure from the flower in his pocket. _If_ he returned. The cold thought was interrupted by a deep, thundering voice. _How could he have ever thought this was his father?_

“Loki Laufeson,” Loki bristled. Son of none “You have been brought before me this evening at the request of Thor Odinson, so that you may be granted one full Midgardian day away from your cell in order to ensure that any vestiges of your sane mind should remain intact while you serve your penance on Asgard. To ensure that this excursion is completely risk-free for Yggdrasil and all of her occupants-” Honestly, you threaten just three realms and suddenly the whole World Tree was involved “-You will remain in the custody of Thor and are to follow his direction at all times.” Odin paused to get to his feet, taking slow steps down towards them as he spoke. Loki kept his eyes trained on the floor, tasting blood in his mouth for the effort of keeping quiet. “In addition, as you have proved yourself unworthy and not to be trusted, you will be stripped of all magical abilities-“ Loki’s heart stopped “-until you are returned back to Asgard, and in your cell.”

His magic? Surely the humiliation of staying under the Odinson’s watch all evening was punishment enough, but his magic? “The guise-“ he bit out but was silenced by a large too-hot hand on his head, pressing his gaze to the ground.

“That magic is, and always has been, a gift from Frigga. You will maintain it for as long as she sees fit.”

Loki suddenly understood the true significance of the flower in his pocket. Reassurance. He was no child, but at the loss of something so innately _him..._ it comforted Loki to know he would not bear his true monstrous skin which sat beneath the film of enchantment. He held onto the thought as a sudden knife-like tearing seared its way across his back, and bit harder upon his cheek to fight a growing cry in his chest. It felt as though he was being rent in two, but only for an endless moment, before he was released by Odin, and found himself panting on the floor.

“Loki...” Ah yes, Thor. Likely reaching out to him, concern on his face. But Loki felt no camaraderie towards him. It was painfully apparent that his false-brother was aware of the price this venture would cost, but felt no reason to warn him, or even ask him if a night trip to Midgard was something he could fit into his schedule.

He would surely lose his life to the vengeance-filled mortals now, with nought even the power to defend himself, save through his tongue. The willowy prince pushed himself to his feet and raised his chin. “Heimdall will be waiting.” If these were his last hours, he would see them through with dignity, even if his voice betrayed him in a crackling split through his words. He strode from the grand hall without a pause to Odin, who returned to his seat and rest a hand upon his head.

He needn’t look back to know the longing gaze of his once-brother rested upon him. Though, for once, Thor had the decency of keeping quiet and let Loki pace ahead of him without disruption or distraction. One night. He reassured himself, just one night on Midgard. They were hardly a threat, and with Thor watching over him he _was_ in relative safety.

The Bifrost met his feet, softening his steps as he moved across it. The iridescent flakes of energy gleamed up at him as they did in so many of his nightmares. Seeing it again had that monster in his head beckoning for him to let go, and to fall into the deep, unforgiving, sea of space. He briefly considered it. Especially now, he was greatly weakened by the experience of losing so much magic. His green eyes peered thoughtfully over the edge. It would be quick, probably. Not like last time, when he was swept into the in-betweens by sheer force of will. There would be nothing keeping his body from being tugged below the frigid waters and cast onto the shores of nothingness. His view was suddenly blocked by a great golden sphere, and he looked over, into it, meeting the unsettling gaze of the bridge keeper.

“Heimdall!” Thor's booming voice, jovial as always, deafened Loki with the echo in the small room. “We are nearly late, my friend, so I cannot stay to speak with you.” The guard nodded slowly and made his way to the pedestal, forcing into it a great sword. The walls around them began to slide and spin, angling the great golden spout towards Midgard. “Until tomorrow, my friend” Loki bade Heimdall a silent bow and stepped with Thor into the dimensional light.

They were transported to the party almost directly. Loki wondered briefly if this was because transporting a criminal would be an unnecessary risk, or because Thor couldn’t help but make a very loud, and unwelcome entrance.

Either way, the light they travelled from was hardly as impressive as the extravagant (and sensory assaulting) ceremony prepared for the arrival of Anthony Stark, that came only moments later. He was somewhat grateful, for the curious looks he received were unwelcome; as if they were trying to place his face to an event, but couldn’t quite remember.

It started with the squealing of some sort of electric instrument, perhaps the distorted version of a lute, and a vibrant explosion of, very alarming, fire-lights in the air above them. They lit the dark canvas like the Bifrost but faded as quickly as they came. Loki took a step behind Thor. The man came next, zipping out of the sky like a serpent, in his iron suit. The one who had offered him that drink, he remembered. The terrible music seemed to be coming from him and kept playing even after he had landed, and begun yelling nonsense at the crowd. The atrocious sounds seemed to fill the void of his magic (if only because he was focused on how foreign and unwelcome everything was) and his head began to feel numb. He felt a heavy hand on his back “Enjoy your evening Brother, I shall see you in the morn.” And he was abandoned before a refute could leave his mouth.


	2. Beacon

“Are we ready Jarvis?”

“All systems are go sir.” Replied the AI

“Cue the music.”

Tony’s visor lit up, framing his face in a familiar glow. He flexed his fingers, feeling the pull and retraction of the perfectly fitted metal and oil. They bounced in time with the music, palm turned upward holding an invisible guitar, pressing and sliding along the wires in his imagination. The music was loud, keening, his favourite song blocking out any aspect of thought. Just noise and a driving baseline.

“Are you sure this is wise sir? Blood pressure levels reaching-“

“Mute.” Chirped Tony. “What have I said about interrupting Shoot to Thrill? That’s just rude.” He strode forward to the edge of the platform, wind pushing at his chest and swaying the suit. Far below lights broke the dull glitter of the city, swaying beams of gold and red beckoning his entrance. An explosion above him broke his concentration, his eyes flicked upward, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

A crackle of fireworks lit up his surname over the glassy building

He blinked slowly and took a breath. “Let's give the people what they need.” He stepped off the edge and let himself fall. The music grew louder. He closed his eyes, watching the flashes of colour paint his lids, the screaming guitar, his aching chest, the shattering boom of the Bifrost-wait

“Jarvis, was that Thor?” The AI remained silent, but his hud indicated that, indeed, Thor and an unidentified plus one had come through the Bifrost. His eyebrows lifted, accepting the challenge. “Oh, not this time Point Break.”

Thrusters revving, Tony righted himself and rerouted power to his boots, the iron man shot upward and into the sky, a streak of angry yellow marking his path. He put himself into a lazy spin, shooting a few fireworks preemptively, and they lit up around him in a dazzling display. He could hear the crowd murmur affectionately. Eyes back on him he revved, taking a moment to hover in the sky. The song built to its final climax and Tony smiled.

“This is how you make an entrance”

He put the suit into a nosedive, shooting down the length of his tower. His reflection in the glass followed, a ghostly gold and ruby twin rippling alongside him. The crowd below was gathered at the steps and street, dressed to the nines in his honour. A platform rose upward to meet him just as he kicked out his feet, landing roughly, loudly, pulling at the wires in his chest and tweaking the pain. The guitar met his arrival as if calling his name as he straightened up, raised his hands, and welcomed the approving applause. His suit peeled off of him as he walked, pieces removed in a way that was as delicate as it was flashy before they were whisked out of sight beneath the platform. Even so close to the tower he couldn’t risk being caught unawares. He shifted the sleek metal bands under his suit cuff absently, a cold comfort.

“Welcome my friends, welcome!” He smiled faintly, going through the motions he’d practised a million times before. Arms outstretched to invite them in while remaining the focal point. Eye contact, lingering on the more attractive, the more wealthy, the Blondie grinning like an idiot. “You may have noticed that the lights at home are back on.” He paused for applause “I’d like you to know that this light, no, this _beacon_ in New York is never going out again.” A soft laugh at the cheering group “Thank you.

  
“Stark Tower- it doesn’t just represent a change in energy; free energy for each and every one of us. But it represents a promise. My promise, to those of you who were threatened, scared or hurt during the attack on our city eight months ago, to the ones who lost their homes or their families, this light is for you. I want you to look up and know that we are watching and that if anything out there even _thinks_ about looking this way, we will be ready for them.” His vision dotted, and Tony blinked, vaguely hearing the generous applause, “Please, please, drink, and enjoy”

The music cued up again but he could only hear his breath and his heart in his ears. He saw a flash of Pepper’s hair at his side, and his arm reached out for her. Pepper, always there when he needed her.

She gently escorted him off stage, smiling as if it was planned all along. No one noticed her holding him steady as he shook the hands of fat-pocketed investors and patrons. She did all the talking, and he let her.

Under his fine grey suit, his reactor leaked into the skin. His veins burned. He smiled. He _faked_ it.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

“If you’ll excuse me” Tony purred, releasing Pepper and withdrawing from the circle of company. He made his way mechanically to the bar, leaned against it and requested a scotch before easing himself into the sleek stool. He pulled the phone from his breast pocket and read the message that blinked on screen.

 _Blood pressure reaching dangerously low levels._  
_Radiation levels rising_  
_Advised Action: Seek medical attention_

Tony chuffed and placed it face down on the counter, accepting his drink from the barman. He took a sip.

“And here I thought I was attending a party, not a funeral.” Murmured a familiar voice.

It was all Tony could do to ignore the primal shiver of warning that crawled up from his stomach. Their eyes met, two masks feigning indifference. Green watching brown, equally stubborn but with too dark rings underneath.

Loki broke the contact to idly inspect his empty glass, long fingers tilting it one way and then another. His suit was sharp and tailored, a gold scarf peeking out from under his collar, reminiscent of the gaudy armour he had once been attired in. He sat there so _naturally_ as if to enjoy the conversation.

 _Thor_. The unidentified plus one? Shit, why the hell would Thor bring Loki to the annual investor's party? And why tonight, of _all_ nights? Someone who could actually pose a threat to the team as the last thing they needed when he was incapacitated. Not that the team was off their guard, but still.

He needed to figure out exactly what kind of trouble Loki was planning to cause.

“What are you drinking?” Tony reached over and plucked the copper mug from Loki’s grip, already knowing it was a moscow mule, but smelling it anyway. “Vodka? For you? Mm, no I don’t think so. Barkeep, can you get this gentleman a Lagavulin 16 year? The one with the emerald cap, that’s right.” Tony took another sip of his own drink and leaned back, laughing to break the tension he was feeling. “Vodka? Really?”

“And how, may I ask, is it that you would choose a drink on a foreign planet?” inquired Thor’s brother, tentatively smelling the dram that was given to him. His nose wrinkled with displeasure.

“Always drink what the host is having.” Advised Tony. He clinked his drink against Loki’s and downed the rest with a wince. “And, if it’s a boring shindig like this one, drink a lot.” Tony winked “Another double please”

It was hard to keep his hand from shaking when he took the next drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this being quite short! I wanted to make sure to get you at least something before I ran off to enjoy some pre-holiday merriment! Thank you for all the wonderful comments and support, I never imagined this would even be read!  
> Merry Christmas <3


	3. The Party on Midgard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two somebodies drink copious amounts, but only one ends up on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trapped at home with a relentless cold, please forgive any errors you may find before I do.

Tony Stark smelled of death. Not the forgiving fragrance of a swift kill either. He smelled of slow rotting. Of flesh consumed by poisons and metal and oil. Even his face had changed from what Loki vaguely remembered. The pink tones of his skin had faded into an ashy grey, and the whites of his eyes were dull. His posture; listless. All the same, Loki was on guard. Any other mortal would hardly pose a threat in a condition like this one’s, but Tony Stark, the Iron Man, was another creature entirely. He was dressed well, smiled broadly, and had managed to find and assess Loki within seven minutes of his arrival. All well playing down the fact that he was barely alive to do it. He was as skilled an actor as himself, in some ways.

Loki wrinkled his nose, choosing to inhale the deep amber liquid that Stark had given him rather than endure the sickeningly-sweet scent of the man. It was sharp, clinical, and was mildly reminiscent of poison. If Midgard had an ale that could kill him then he would welcome it with a deep drink.

Stark smiled without mirth. His eyes were shrewd, inspecting the villain with veiled suspicion. Loki watched him from the corner of his eye. He had no armour and made no move to call for assistance. This was strange. Maybe facing their own mortality made mortals lose their inhibitions. Or maybe, Loki thought, he was just drunk. And for good reason, the alcohol Stark had given him was strong enough to give _him_  pause.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m delighted that you’re not in the reindeer get-up asking people to get on their knees, or better yet, throwing me out a window like the last time I offered you a drink…but I don’t remember you being on the guest list for my very exclusive party.”

“I might remind you that your exclusive party is in a major city, in the middle of a roadway. Any riff raft could come and join in on your little celebration.”

“And that riff raft happens to be you?” Another glass poured.

Loki eyed Thor from the corner of his eye, entertaining to a crowd of people, A sharp contrast to his own cautious demeanour at the bar. “Among others.”

Tony feigned surprise “So you chose to attend my little shindig of your own accord?”

Loki resented the insinuation, staring the inventor down while swallowing another dram. “I was coerced.”

Tony, leaned in conspiratorially. “Want me to let you in on a little secret?” He poured them both a third glass from the bottle on the bar. “So was I.”

— — — — — — — — — — — —

Tony’s mind whirled, trying to put all the pieces together as quickly as he was able. Working while intoxicated wasn’t much of a challenge for the inventor, in fact, it was an art he practised often. But working while filled with so much palladium leaking into his bloodstream? He was discovering this to be more difficult. But he had no choice, half terror half resolve. Besides, even dying, he _was_ a genius.

Jarvis had informed him that Thor had arrived, but hadn’t specifically identified Loki. Loki was something Jarvis was competent in identifying previously, so what changed? Why was Loki measured as an ‘unidentified’ when he was so clearly himself. They had been absolutely diligent in tracking both the signatures from the Tesseract and Loki’s own special energy during the attack on New York. And yet, here he was. The system had failed.

He had come through the Bifrost, that much was obvious, and was clearly not an illusion given that he could consume both vodka (why?) and very expensive scotch. So if the variable wasn’t his error it would instead be the green-eyed gentleman he entertained with a drink. _Loki_ was what changed. But _how_ , and was it intended to dissuade Jarvis?

“Are you the type of person who thinks they have all the answers Mr Stark?”

“Weren’t your eyes blue?”

Loki blinked, clearly derailed, before recovering his bored facade. “They may have appeared so at some time. Are you forgetting that I’m able to create illusions, Stark? Or is your mind too small to contain the nuances of another being besides yourself?”

Tony stared thoughtfully, trying to work through his ideas. He ignored the numbness in his chest, the sharp twinge in his arm. He thought about Clint, and the icy iris he had while under Loki’s control. The colour of the tesseract. The colour of the gem inside his favourite villains’ glow stick. He reached for the glass again, not wanting to accept his conclusion.

He fumbled it, sending the little cup skittering a few inches away from his fingertips, only to have Loki firmly place it back in his grip. Tony looked up, surprised but suspicious.

“Nothing I could do would make that more poison than it already is.” Loki surmised.

Between them Tony’s phone reverberated against the wood, twisting itself. The trickster flipped it over before Tony had a chance.

_Seek medical attention immediately_

They both read it, and both said nothing. Tony tensed. The cat was out of the bag now. It would be stupid to assume he wouldn’t put the pieces together.

Loki grasped the device with his long fingers and tucked it into his breast pocket. Tony _swore_ he smiled.

Tony levelled his expression carefully. Mischief aside, he could replace the phone, and besides, he had to assume that Loki already suspected far more than anything his cell could ever tell him. He made a mental note to delete all of the data and contacts when he got back to the tower.

The silence was thick between them. He needed an out. What had Loki asked him before?

“Do I have all the answers?" he parroted "I’d like to think so. And if I don’t, I find them. Everything can be answered with science, and considering I’m one of the best at it…”

Loki poured this time, filling their glasses much higher than was strictly necessary. “And if an answer can’t be found?”

“I’ll make one. Haven’t found a situation I haven’t been able to get out of yet.” A challenge. A threat.

“What about that one” Loki’s eyes dropped to Tony’s chest. “Are you intentionally letting it consume you, or is this going to be solved with your _science_.”

His hand instinctively covered the folded creases and buttons of his suit, feeling the reverberation of the reactor underneath. It was stiff, uncomfortable. Like something wasn’t oiled properly. An anxiety where there had once been a comfort.

“Is it broken?”

A pause.

“But you won’t fix it.”

Silence.

“I thought you had all of the answers Tony Stark.” Loki looked smug, or at least pleased at the discomfort between them. Tony wondered if he was just soaking in the chaos, or if he really was delighted to see him dying before his eyes.

Probably both.

A familiar bolt of pain cut through him. His breath hitched in his chest. Expression turned from guarded to strained. His heart throbbed loudly in his ears. His thoughts seemed to catch on his lips. “I don’t have enough time,” Tony whispered as casual as he could. His mind whirled, skyscrapers twisting at the edges of his vision.

“And you would have fixed it with more time?” Pressed Loki, seeming to sense weakness.

Tony opened his mouth but closed it again. Would he have fixed it? Was he really trying?

Here, at the base of his tower in his final moments, surrounded by strangers and gods, instead of knee deep in some invention to keep himself alive. That’s what he did in Afghanistan. That’s what he did after his parents. After Obi. He kept fixing. Kept making and creating. He got up and built something. He built _everything_ , and when they didn’t work he tried again.

But now. Would he have fixed it, with more time?

He thought of the open vastness of space, floating lifeless at the edge of its expanse nothing. The coldness. The little fleck of blue and green that was all the glory of Earth. Exposing his victories for how small they really were.

He thought of Pepper’s face when she told him she didn’t want to be involved personally anymore.

He thought of Cap driving them forwards into battle. Always focused, always good. Always competing against Tony’s rash decisions. Always fighting for the right reasons.

All the people he knew and loved, completely insignificant from way up there in the black. He thought of how easy it was to let go, drifting. Remembered a hero, the perfect ending to a messy story. Tony Stark, dead.

He should have stayed.

“No.” He breathed. “I wouldn’t.”

“Liar.” Someone whispered.

 

— — — — — — — — — — — —

 

Stark’s breathing quavered. One hand clutched at the blue glow in his chest and the other his drink. Loki moved to catch him as the inventor slipped off the chair, arm stretched out but too late. A strange sound escaped those pale lips. Tony hit the ground with a dry thud and a shatter.

All at once the world seemed to light up and scream at Loki’s senses, blurring and shifting his balance out of control. His mind reeled, overwhelmed by the sudden noise of the crowd, the music he had blocked out, the sound of cars and their engines and their lights. The slowing heartbeat of the man below him. His own heartbeat skipping to match it. He blinked. He breathed. He stared.

Thor’s voice broke the panic of the crowd.

“Loki! Man of Iron? What has happened?”

The trickster reached out to place his dram of scotch on the bar, blindly groping. He eased himself forwards and steadied his sway with Thor’s elbow. His vision blurred. How much had he drunk? Without his magic and something solid to focus on, the noise and the liquor were suddenly too much. The world arrested his senses, made all the worse by the sudden collapse of his…enemy? Not exactly. Perhaps accomplice, if only in consuming the bottle of alcohol they had nearly split. Where was Stark anyways? Oh right, the ground.

“Loki!” Shouted Thor, shaking him gently.

Loki blinked

“Take his legs, we will carry him inside. Hurry.”

Without any other options, Loki did what Thor asked, he bent over and grasped the man by his hips, raising him up before hooking an arm under each leg. It was an unseemly position to be seen by so many people, but Loki was too intoxicated to give it much more thought than that. He and Thor hoisted Tony up and hurried him past the curious, pushy crowd.

Stark’s building was sterile. There was no wood, nor plants. It was all metal and glass, with superfluous beams and archways. Their boots echoed loudly. Loki focused on it, like a drumbeat to war. Thor directed him to a desk covered in books and screens. They used Stark’s body to push them all away, laying the man flat on it. Thor gave Stark a firm jostle, calling his name out. The mortal did nothing.

Footsteps and a door closed behind them.

“There isn’t anything you can do.” Came a small voice.

It was the spy and all the rest of their little team. The group stood quietly, solemn, and didn’t approach. It was as if they knew this was coming. They had already accepted it, but no one wanted to see it happen. Loki squinted. There was one more than usual, dressed not for battle but for the party, a woman with coppery hair and large wet eyes. She was closer than the rest.

“What are you saying? That we are to let him die in our hands?” croaked Thor, who now held Loki’s arm for balance. “You will just stand there and accept this? What of his choice in the matter?” Had they all known he was dying, but no one told Thor? They had invited him to the party where the Man of Iron would die, but saved the main event as a _surprise_? Loki’s lip curled with disgust.

“He already asked us to let him go.” Spoke the archer, looking away, anywhere but at Loki. “He wanted this.”

Thor shook his head “No, this can not be. How can you give up so willingly?”

“We’re just trying to respect his wishes in any way we can. We meant to tell you earlier but…” The captain trailed off. “He couldn’t fix it. He had his time to come to terms with the end.”

“And when the missile was coming to destroy your New York? What then? Son of Stark did not give up, he risked his life to save you.”

“This isn’t about repaying a debt,” spoke a small mouse haired man “He didn’t want to live anymore. He was tired of the fight. It was an easy choice for him.”

Thor wasn’t having it. His face twisted so sadly that Loki tried to pull away from his grip, not wanting that expression to be added to the collection he already had in his nightmares. But it only tightened. “Loki!” Despair turned to desperation “Loki my brother, use your magic. Surely you’ve healed worse on our hunts! Remember when Volsagg-“

Loki pulled away sharply, bumping into the desk that held Stark’s body in his drunken haze. “Have you already forgotten,” it was a challenge to keep himself from slurring “The Allfather stripped me of my powers before we left Asgard. I have as much control over the arcane as a mortal would. And besides,” he continued, trying his damnedest to keep his voice even “I have no desire to heal a man who is also my enemy. As far as I’m concerned this is a joyful occasion.”

An idea hit Thor like a lightning strike. Loki could see it pass over his eyes, the idea coming over his face with absolute hope. “You can use mine!”

Loki scoffed.

“No, listen Loki. Use my magic to heal Stark. You do not need your own if I begin as the conduit-“ he strode forward, grasping Loki’s shoulders, and raising him off the ground, triumphant. Loki nearly vomited.

“You fool, don’t you remember last time we tried to use your magic for something?”

“Loki” Thor paused, looking the trickster straight in the face, his huge blue eyes pleading like a young child “I believe in you. Do this for me.”

Loki bit his lip. He was sure it was the alcohol that made him succumb. “I will try.”


	4. Purgatory

Tony’s head pounded. It felt like he’d been struck with a lead pipe but on the inside of his skull. He rubbed at it, tousling his messy hair with a calloused hand. _Fuck_ that felt weird. He opened his eyes and sat up. The reactor in his chest thrummed, no longer rattling like it had pneumonia, which was vaguely confusing. It took Tony a few bleary moments to realize that he wasn’t alone either. The soles of dark leather boots lay at the edge of his arc reactors light.

“Is that you, Rudolph?” Tony croaked. His throat felt like it hadn’t been used in weeks.

“It is not.”

“Holy shit it is you.” Tony leaned forward. “You look terrible.” Loki’s face was pale and strained like the blood had been taken out of him. His suit jacket was half off one shoulder and his hair looked windblown. The last time Tony had seen him look this dishevelled was when they found him in the floor of his tower, buried neatly in the concrete.

“That means a lot coming from a dead man.”

“I have excellent stamina.” The comment was knee-jerk, easy, but wasted on Loki, who simply turned his head away, staring into the black distance.

Tony took the silence and tried to collect himself. He felt like his brain had hit the hard restart. Last he remembered he was at the investors' party. Pepper was there, and the others. He had just finished saying goodbye to all of them before it started. He had added the last palladium chip. One final flight in the suit.

But then Loki had been there.

Suspicion moved in, but he kept his tone calm.

“Death huh? Death is dark.”

“Mmm.”

“I mean, really, really dark.”

Silence.

“Do you want to elaborate on why we’re here together?” he pressed.

“Please cease speaking, Stark, I’m trying to concentrate.”

Tony tapped his fingers in agitation.

It _was_ dark. And _still_. Like a theatre before a showing. Tony could hear echoes and murmurs in the depths, but couldn’t place what they were. Unlike a theatre there were no shapes in the darkness, no spots of light or stars. No whirr of circuits or hum of power. It was as if he was underwater, but could hear Loki speaking as clear as day. Tony pushed himself to his feet, walking forwards to see the rest of his sole companion and standing over him. Between them was the only light, the glow of Tony’s reactor. It lit them both in cold blue.

“You’re shining your heart in my eyes.” Groused Loki, his brow wrinkling in displeasure.

“It’s more like an extremely powerful electromagnet. And besides, your eyes are closed.”

“Does it have an off switch?” The trickster threatened

“Yeah, but I would die.”

Loki’s exhausted face tilted up to him. They shared a look. One irritated, eyebrow raised, the other melting into surprise.

“No. Really?”

“Nearly. You will be if you keep interrupting me. It isn’t my pleasure to be here in your exceedingly empty mind, so I would welcome a reason to leave.”

“My mind? Trust me, I don’t think my mind has ever been this quiet. And it definitely, no offence, wouldn’t have you in it, Shakespeare, at least, not in all that.”

Loki’s lips curled with distaste.

“Can we turn the lights on or something?”

“This is what I am attempting to reconcile, Stark. There is some kind of block in the arcane pathways, I assume this is due to your mortal nature, maybe it’s the alcohol, I can’t say for certain.”

“Two things. One, there's no such thing as magic. It’s science. Telemetry, a portable Faraday shield and some kind of self-healing nanotech in your blood. Two, did you get _drunk_? I mean I suspected when you stole my phone but you’re hard to peg down.”

Loki scoffed, a sound tainted heavily with the same kind of gravel Tony felt in his own throat. “I may have made a small misstep with my estimate on the effects Midgardian alcohol, at least without the presence of Seiðr to burn it off, but regardless my body is not a conduit for our situation here so I am not presently intoxicated. It was your consumption of alcohol that I was referring to.”

“You mean you’re not doing all this?” Tony waved his hands in the darkness around them.

“Yes and no. I was forced to borrowed Thor’s body and use his power. Technically he has shared his soul with my own, and then I offered mine, as hosted by Thor, to yours.”

“You did a Vulcan mind meld with Thor?”

“And then with you, yes. What is this ‘Vulcan?”

“The Next Generation? Star Trek?” Tony sighed. “Asgard must be boring.”

Loki mumbled what sounded like an assent, closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest, clearly not interested in Tony’s antics anymore. “Once I solve this problem we can start on looking for your house.”

“It’s the one with my name on it. Big tower.”

“Then go find it. The sooner you find your sanctuary, the sooner we can get out of here.”

“And what is here and why am I involved?”

The god squeezed his eyes shut, visibly straining. After a moment his breathing slowed, and he didn’t speak again.

Whatever the hell Loki meant by the sanctuary, he wasn’t sharing. The god just closed up on himself, sitting like a monk, doing his voodoo shit, completely ignoring Tony. Huffing he started off on his own, walking out into the darkness with a wary eye. It wasn’t a frightening kind of place, and it didn’t make him feel uncomfortable or nervous. It was just quiet. Even his footsteps were muffled, though by what he couldn’t quite see. The light from the arc reactor wasn’t as strong as a flashlight would be, and Tony wasn’t exactly in the mood to kneel down and see what he was walking over. Not with Prince Lagavulin around.

The sound of running water distracted him for a moment, and Tony paused, listening through the black for the source of the sound. It was quiet, a little chime and gurgle. Splashes on stones. He stepped to the left, closing his eyes (pointless to keep them open) and holding his breath. He took another step, then another until it grew in sound. Suddenly his foot sank and he was knee deep in a brook. He swore and pulled his leg free, falling on his ass while doing so.

“I found some water.” He called out weakly. Loki didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He wasn’t exactly sure of any part of this. Last he remembered he was taking shots of scotch with his ex-enemy at a party celebrating his imminent demise. He remembered Loki pocketing his cell phone. He remembered the text on it.

_Seek medical attention immediately_

His insides shifted uncomfortably. What was this anyway? Trapped in his mind when he should be dead? Some kind of purgatory. Loki _would_ be in purgatory. He had a feeling that would just delight him, being able to torture someone for eternity with no repercussions. Not that Loki cared about those anyway.

But hadn’t he said _nearly_ dead? Was that like the princess bride? Obviously without the chocolate covered miracle pill. If Tony was nearly dead, then why would Loki be involved? Had he interfered?

Suddenly the sun switched on and the inventor recoiled, blinking. A distance away someone sneezed.

“Gazzuntite.” Loki muttered something unintelligible back at him. Tony rubbed his eyes, pushing away the cloudy spots. “Where the hell…”

It was definitely not something Tony thought he could have conjured in his mind. For one, there was no tech. That much was painfully obvious. It was beautiful though, maybe something Pepper could have dreamed, or a place he’d vacationed to as a kid.

They were in a high valley surrounded by close, tight-knit mountains, which were lit up by the afternoon sun with shades of yellow and pink. The snow that clung to their barest of peaks wasn’t even that far off. It was a grassy meadow tucked away in the arms of a range. The water he had fallen in was no more than a stream, fed by a small waterfall that cascaded from the sheer cliffs behind him. As for the sanctuary he was meant to find? It definitely wasn’t Stark tower.

“I will admit, Iron Man, this is not quite what I had expected from you.” Loki approached from further down the hill with a flushed face, moving slower than his usual brisk gait. “Your mind conjures a location far different than I predicted…þú pique áhuga minn.”

“And what’s that?”

Loki smiled painfully, eyes glittering. It didn’t last long though, it was clear that the mage was exhausted. He turned away and drew Tony’s eye to a thatched cottage not far off. Pale, the colour of maple, but new looking and sturdy. The door stood ajar as if expecting the two of them all along.

“I could do with some sustenance. Stark, are you coming?”

“Some- wait just hold on a second here. What the hell is this place? What are we doing here Loki?”

The Prince spread his hands, glancing up at the sky “This is your sanctuary Stark. A home away from home, an ethereal plane within your mind.” He eyes turned sharp “Hel.”

Tony’s heart stuttered.

“I jest” Loki’s mouth parted but the smile was all teeth. “Bara helvíti fyrir mig. Now come, or I shall eat all the food without you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more verbose than I'm use to writing, I feel that conversations which aren't from one point of view or another are definitely my weaker point. Thank you for your continued support :)


	5. Uneasy Truce

The tall grass blew between them, shifting and catching at Loki’s boots.

“I’m sorry but no. Is there any chance you’re going to actually explain what’s going on here? Because the last I checked, I was having a really nice time at my funeral.”

“Aren’t funerals suppose to be for the living?” Asked Loki, starting down the hill to the little cottage. He plucked a long-stemmed daisy as he passed, and rolled it between his fingers. The center was bright yellow, almost exactly the tone of the flower Frigga had left for him.

“Seemed rude to miss my own party.”

Loki could hear him struggling to match pace. “I’m sure they enjoyed the show.” The silver tongue drawled, stepping over a large rock. “Seeing your body limp at my feet really was the highlight of my night.”

“So you did have something to do with this. Could you slow down?”

The prince halted abruptly, but turned slowly, burning his eyes into Starks. He could feel that mocking voice of the monster within him echo from the depths of his mind, venomous and cruel. It was difficult to keep his voice calm. “Whatever string of terrible choices led you to last night had nothing to do with me. That,” He pointed a finger at the reactor “has nothing to do with me, and I can assure you that while I deeply enjoyed seeing the life slip from your eyes while you writhed on the floor Son of Stark; I had nothing to do with it. You seem to have been able to kill yourself just fine without any outside assistance. Unfortunately for me there is someone who was not willing to accept your bid for Valhalla, and I’m going to speculate, but I think there’s someone you invited to your little get together last night who wasn’t aware that it was a funeral.”

“Wasn’t aware?” Stark’s shoulders fell as the pieces fell together in his little mind. “Wait, you did this for Thor?”

“Give the man a prize.” Loki snapped, desperately trying to keep his thoughts clear and unfettered by emotion. He couldn't stand and argue, he couldn't risk losing his temper. He settled for turning and marching down through the meadow to the little house at the heart of it.

“Why? Loki, wait!”

There were a lot of reasons not to kill Tony Stark in his own mind. For one, Loki was pretty sure it would terminate the man’s body too, thus defeating his little field trip, but more importantly, he wasn’t sure if it would trap Loki's own mind in the dead space that remained. Unwinding one’s mind from another was a tricky prospect to begin with, but to do so in a collapsing atmosphere without magic of his own offered its own share of risks. Horrors that Loki wasn’t keen on experiencing first hand. He preferred to accept death on his own terms, with a feeling of control.

That said, he did briefly consider it, because the mortal was pressing on his patience.

He strode into the little house, memorizing the quaint kitchen, pretending to inspect the cupboards for food just to stay busy. It was a fine cottage, as far as sanctuaries went. Small but warm, well lit with a table for three by the window. It reminded Loki of a hunting hut, but cleaner, more like a home that hadn’t been lived in long. The stove caught his eye, a wood burning style in a bright copper colour and a chimney that breached the roof. It had been a while since he worked something as old as that.

“Loki-“ heavy panting “god you’re fast. What the hell has Thor got to do with all of this?” Loki heard the mortal pull up a wooden chair and throw himself onto it. His breathing was ragged but even, punctuated with occasional gasping sighs. “I didn’t keep it from Thor on purpose. He spends a lot less time at the tower than the rest of the team though. It’s hard to have that conversation with someone who doesn’t…”

Loki clenched his fingers around the lip of the counter, crimping the wood. “You failed to tell him he was attending a funeral because you found it difficult to have a conversation?”

“It’s not that simple-“ snapped Stark

“And pray tell what was so different about Thor than the rest of your comrades?”

Tony ducked the question with his own. “Why did Thor ask you to take me here?”

“Because he couldn’t stand by while the others let you die.”

“I asked them to!”

“Well, you didn’t ask Thor!” Roared Loki. The wood of the island cracked from his grip, tearing a rift down the centre of it with a heave. Tony stood suddenly, knocking his chair over in the panic. He gripped his wrist, pointing the palm of his hand at Loki, threatening him with a suit that wasn’t there. They froze, staring at one another.

The silence that fell between them was palpable.

“Because he doesn’t see it.” Whispered Tony. Blood blushed his face, creeping into his eyes in a web of stress. His voice was filled with venom, but the words seemed to pour forth without thought. “He wasn’t there when I destroyed all my suits. He wasn’t there for the nightmares, or when Pep left, or when I tried to send myself back into space. Thor; he’s always on, doing the right thing, making the right choices. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to face your own mortality over and over again for people who are better than you. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be plagued by the nightmares of your failure. Of torture. I don’t want to be talked out of this. I don’t want help. I just want to let go. I don’t want to live like this anymore. I don’t want to live at all.” He dropped his arms and turned his back to Loki, hiding his face. “This has nothing to do with Thor. This was my choice. Now get out of my head and let me die in peace.”

“No.” Loki whispered. He carefully blocked all of those same horrors he felt, listed like an epitaph for himself.

“What is this then? You're going to hold me prisoner until I change my mind? No offence, but you don’t exactly come off as the Jiminy Cricket type.”

“I don’t care what you want, your life makes little difference to me." Loki closed his eyes, surrounding his words with cold emotionless finality. "Thor begged me to restore your health, and I plan to keep my word”

“And how exactly do you plan on making that happen, Donner? I don’t know if you got the news update but I’m being poisoned to death.” He tapped the circle glowing from under his shirt “Unless you have some way of magically removing radiation, not to mention shrapnel, you’re fighting a losing battle.”

"The only way to save your life was by casting us both into a sanctuary realm in your mind, ostensibly ceasing time. This will allow me to heal your body over many moons using Thor's magic to manipulate each cell in your body individually.”

“You stopped time.” The inventor half turned, curiosity crossing distress for a moment. It was clear to Loki that the idea of playing with the boundaries of his world intrigued him. Perhaps the distraction would calm his tantrum.

“I removed you from time.” He corrected.

“And we’re going to be here, what for weeks?” Asked Tony.

“Possibly months, this is only the second time I have attempted it.”

“But you succeeded the first time.”

Loki looked down at the countertop.

“Then why even try? Just get out of here and tell Thor it couldn’t be done.”

“Are you suggesting I lie to him about the death of his shield-brother?”

“Aren’t you the god of lies, or something?”

“That is a problem of its own.” Loki rubbed his face. “Should I return to Midgard with anything other than your wellbeing I would be implicated in the murder of Thor’s ally.”

“But I’ve chosen this, me. Not you, not Thor.”

“Odin cares not the reason for your death. If it appears that I could have caused it, no words I can say will change his mind. The assumption would be that I have, as you suggested, lied.”

“And I have no say in this? I’ve got to stay here in, what? In this meadow with you until you’re done?”

Loki nodded “I will hold you here until your body is healed.”

“So I _am_ a prisoner.” A tone of masked horror.

“If you want to look at it that way. My hand has been forced, but I don’t intend on making your stay with me unpleasant. If you so wish we do not have to speak to one another. I shall work in my room, I will prepare my own meals. You shan’t have to do anything but keep yourself alive. Consider it a reprieve from the struggles of being an honourable hero.”

Tony grit his teeth.

It was a lot for a mortal to take in, Loki had assumed he would have a difficult time coping with the changes. Not to mention his soul was ragged, appearing tired and stressed. Bloodshot eyes accompanied by dark bags and a thick tongue. He himself probably didn't look much better.

“You will need to sleep, and eat, and do all of the things that are expected of a mortal to do. I suggest that you try to find a hobby, something to occupy your mind. Should you start slipping into insanity our pleasant mountain cottage could turn into something considerably more dangerous. I would appreciate very kindly if you refrained from doing so on purpose. There are far more painful methods to heal you that would cause me no more inconvenience.” He sighed, chest tight. “You may call me Loki if you need to. I do apologize for this.” It was ingenuine, but the words were there.

Tony didn’t make eye contact. “I’m going to bed.” The Midgardian closed the door firmly behind himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind comments! Each one sends my heart aflutter xD


	6. Quiet on the Homefront

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well look who's not dead! It's me :D

The wall shook slightly from the impact. And Loki’s face deflated, he rubbed his temples gingerly. Loki’s eyes cast drearily over the cracked wood. He contemplated repairing it, just to get out some frustration, but couldn’t muster the will. It had taken a fair amount of energy to bind their minds with the limited magic Thor possessed, and now his own body was achingly tired from the effort. He thought of making some food to replenish a bit before resting, but even that seemed like a lot of effort after going toe to toe with Stark. He asked a lot of questions and was deeply untrusting. He felt as though he had just finished arguing with a petulant child.

He could hardly be blamed for having those instincts, but really Loki could have just let him die in the first place. Saving Tony Stark was exclusively to save his own skin in return. Forget a threat, the god was actively giving him life, and if that wasn’t someone you could trust then who was?

The prince stretched gingerly, trying to press out his exhaustion onto the broken counter. He felt the tight strain of overworked muscles in his neck, and an overwhelming need to sleep. It gripped at the depths of his chest when he breathed too deeply. Rest would have to wait. Without nourishment, he feared sleep would keep him for longer than strictly necessary, and with a turbulent spirit like Tony’s, the less time they spent in limbo the better.

There were only two pieces of wood sitting by the stove, which Loki tossed in one at a time to the back of its metal maw. He snapped his fingers a few times, inciting a small magical spark and lit the bark on the closer log, catching it alight. The magic was weird and foreign, using conviction instead of Seiðr. He closed the door slowly, keeping the little blaze safely inside. Next Loki recalled what he had seen in the cupboards. It was Midgardian food mostly, but nothing so unusual that he did not recognize. Unfortunately, from his quick look, there didn’t seem to be anything in the way of fresh vegetables or meat, only tins and cellophane bags of preformed pasta. It was tomorrow’s problem. For now, he could make something easy enough to give him strength, and keep his mind focused on a task instead of spiralling, which it threatened so easily.

Loki pulled up a small metal pot from a low shelf and filled it with cool water from the tap. It gurgled and splashed into the container with a babbling chatter. He placed this on the stove before returning to the cupboards that stood in varying states of openness. He took a package of small twisted pasta and placed them on the counter. There was a stout bag of flour on the top shelf. He reached up and snagged the cuff of the bag, bringing it down easily. Then opened a little dish that was sitting on the counter, suspecting it was butter. Now what he really needed was milk. He opened a wide door, which was nearly his own height and twice his width, built into the smaller more numerous cupboards. It swung with a slight stiffness, revealing a cool cabinet with shelves inside. Very quaint. The shelves were completely bare save for a single glass bottle of pale white milk. Loki grabbed this and closed the door. He set out his prize with the other ingredients.

The pot of water was placed gingerly on the stovetop to warm, and he found a second smaller pot to go next to it. Into this, he dropped a large pat of butter and a generous dusting of flour. He stirred them together with a wooden spoon over the heat, enjoying the dusty smell. The wood below cracked and snapped feasted on by the little flame inside. It only took a few minutes for the water to roll into a gentle boil, and the little mixture to be thick enough to satisfy. Loki put down the spoon and peeled open the bag of pasta, pouring enough for himself into the pot, and tucking the bag back into the cupboard. Next, he uncapped the milk and slowly poured into the roux. He closed his eyes and stirred gently.

It only took a few minutes but everything came together quickly once the pasta was cooked. He drained off the excess liquid and poured the roux over it, tossing the little curls gently in the buttery sauce, and emptying this into a wide shallow bowl. He placed it on the little table but didn’t sit. Instead, Loki turned and left the cottage, eyes scanning the field of wildflowers with a shrewd eye.

Close by a little cluster of unusually bright flowers grew. They were a purple shade, with stamens of crimson which leant out of their petals like thirsty tongues. It was these tongues that the god was after. He dipped low and took a bloom gently in his hands, holding it steady. With his other hand, he gently plucked out three stamens. He released the blossom and held his prize tightly, returning inside.

Loki picked up the chair Tony had knocked over and sat on it, pulling himself close to the table and sprinkling the little saffron pieces over his meal. They were pretty against the cream sauce.

The god snapped a quill into existence, and then a plain bound book with wide blank pages. He held the pen in one hand, and his fork in the other, settling down to work while he ate.

\- - -

Thor had started the connection, summoning a thread of magic for Loki. Offering it as a gift, and a tether. Loki weaved it into his own body and connected them from there with little effort. (It was a skill he had honed during years of group combat.) Once bound, he stepped into Thor’s mind and took the reins, controlling the God’s magic as if it was his own. Thor quietly surrendered. After a few moments of orienting himself, Loki pressed against the loud thrum that was the spirit Tony Stark. This was where things had become somewhat more complicated.

The mind of a mortal. It was something light and fragile, like a sparrow. Easy to break, difficult to catch, and in Tony’s particular case, blindingly quick. His thoughts came at Loki like ten minds at once, rushing and speaking, and whispering spiralled calculations in a blur. Even intoxicated and dying, which Loki estimated would slow the mortal’s mind by at least half, Tony was a beacon of activity. Nevertheless, his mind felt poisonous and tainted. Bright thoughts greyed somewhat by a metallic dullness that leaked through his pathways like a spill. His mind was moribund in a way Loki had never seen before. With a squeeze, he ceased the thoughts of Tony Stark, and gently coaxed him into the cradle of magic. The sudden expanse of darkness and quiet was a good sign. Their minds had joined and assumed the less complicated three-dimensional plane that mortals were used to.

  
Loki shook out a mental form of himself, sat, and got to work sorting out the three minds and keeping their tangle of thoughts separated. He placed Thor in a box, turning his mind off. He was both unnecessary and incapable of being present while Loki worked through him, so it would just be a resource drain to keep him around. He tended to Tony next, protecting the fluttering mind from harm while Loki flooded through his physical body with Thor’s magic. The God spent less than a minute touching and tasting all the problems it held. Tony Stark was more a corpse than Loki had anticipated. It would take time to coax repairs to all the organs Tony had damaged, and to press out the strange poison and metal that the mortal had collected there.

Once he had confidence in his plan, he released his grip on the mortal’s mind and thus came to life the chattering broken human that was Stark. Between the two of them Loki teased out a sanctuary, something from Tony’s memory, and the cradle became the valley, and the home, and everything in it. It was malleable in some ways. Loki could draw on the resource of magic to change things here and there, and Tony would be able to move and create things as he wished, much more easily than Loki. That was the downside of the sanctuary not being in Loki’s own mind. If Stark were to crack for instance. This would break the illusion and it would be able to take on many more frightful forms than a simple mountain cottage.

Loki’s job was to both mend the mortal’s body and tend the mortal's mind like a shepherd. It was a lot more effort than sitting in a cell in peace, Loki concluded.

From the other room, Loki could now pick up the small sounds of snoring. A little whistle and grumbling din. It hadn’t taken long for the mortal to doze off. He wondered vaguely if Tony intended to be cross with him after a long rest, or if by some luck the human would come to his senses and realize how grateful he should be for Thor’s decision to save his life. Perhaps if Loki took a little time to remove the copious volume of alcohol from his system before proceeding with the rest of the body it would make him more pliant. Or maybe he was like every young As at this age, and just needed to release some stress. Loki hoped he wouldn’t be the target of it, and scratched the last of his thoughts on the matter somewhat forcefully into the paper.


	7. Nightmare

It was dark and the pressure of sound was heavy and numbing.

Between loud heartbeats, he could hear barking laughter, percussed by sporadic gunfire. Each sound sent his pulse racing to his core, squeezing his heart into his throat. He pressed his lips closed for fear of vomiting it out. Closer, maybe in a nearby room, the conspiratorial conversation of men and the brushing sound of metal being sharpened. It trilled in his ears and urged sweat down his neck. And closest of all, as if right in his mouth; the grating metallic thrum of a battery. Constant and droning. The reverberation from the driving sound was enough to incite an encompassing crawl in his skin which lingered and tread invisible inside him.

Tony twisted, feeling the threatening shift of wires in his chest and the quiet scrape of a large box attached to them moving from the strain. He brought his hands to his face, wiping at a layer of sweaty dust and pressing anxiety. He stared seeing his fingers quiver. They were bruised and dirty. Unrecognizable bloodied knuckles and darkened nails. The pads were rough and worn from work. His gaze lingered. From between his digits, beyond and upon the table was a dull blue that caught his eye.

Slowly the inventor righted himself, shifting stiffly in the creaking old cot that supported his bony malnourished corpse. He leaned close to the battery, being mindful of the cables and clamps that connected his gaping chest to its primitive vibrations. He pulled it close, dragging the weight of it into his lap and gripping the old plastic as tightly as he could manage when he stood.

Sitting within reach was a narrow desk littered with piles of torn blueprints stained with oil and grime. The pieces were stacked with no order or reason, each page only partial and unhelpful without each of its brethren for reference. It took him more than a moment to realize they laid out the blueprints to his own invention. Something he vaguely recognized yet but spoke so true to him that it could only be his. Vacillating he placed the battery down onto a clear corner of the table and pulled a page forwards, then another and a third. Appearing slowly from the unconfident lines of the blueprints, connected through tears in the paper and gaps of missing pieces; the outline of a primal arc reactor. A weapon beyond all reasoning and wealth. Something he could never allow in the hands of another. Yet there it was. The quivering lines seemed to threaten him. Laying out his life to come. Sitting there knowingly and writhing with pleasure for it. The amazing Tony Stark. Rich American with all the shiny weapons. On a collision course with the worlds undoing in a reckless path to save just himself. Tony felt the cold creep of fear climb upwards from the wires clamped to his chest. The wind keened through the deep and hidden tunnels like a scream of victory. It carried a crackle of laughter and a promise that lit his blood on fire. 

\- - - - - - 

 

Gaaaaahh! 

Tony gasped and threw himself out of bed in one frantic movement. His body jerked, ankles in a tangle of sheets damp with sweat. He had been jolted awake by the sound of a horrified scream and when he stood shivering in cold silence to find where it had come from, he realized too late that it was his raw throat that had produced it.

His nerves cried out along with the drumbeat of his heart, chanting a spell that held his body in the unforgiving friction of fear. The air was still, held in by the closed window and closed door. A tiny room quiet as a vacuum. 

This fear was something he knew. It was as familiar as an electric shock and it held him with an easy dominance. His body would seize and tremble, his mind listening as hard as it could while racing and painting new dangers and terror in each little shadow. Every cranny and hidden corner. The place beyond the window, the room beyond the door. He head was waylaid with images of wires and metal and old blue paper. His heart scrabbled at his chest as if to climb out and shake him. The frantic pounding grew and grew, charging forwards like a herd of wild horses. It filled the quiet room until it was so loud he was deafened by it. The driving sound drowned the imagined terrors with nought but noise and pressure. Forward and forward it beat, pulsing and chasing until at last his chest could give no more. 

_What was that?_

 

Shuffling and hushed voices. 

 

The hum of a battery. The sound of water poured into a bucket. Voices lilting through a language unknown to him, appraising his pain, admiring his terror. He felt fingers in his hair, gripping tight and sudden. The smell of stale water and the old plastic it was living in. Someone demanded loudly in his ear, tugging and shouting. Instinct took him. Tony shouted back. He wasn’t going to give in. He would never surrender to them. They laughed. They knew he would refuse. He always refused. His face was pushed down without ceremony and he gagged, taking in the water right to his lungs. It filled him like a river, choking and devouring. He convulsed. The fingers dug in deeper. Spots dotted the blackness of his closed lids. He felt himself falling away from the world, twisting and slipping from consciousness. 

It was only when he thought he was dead that his face was finally pulled up again from the bucket, allowing him a desperate, gasping breath. Water poured from his mouth, body shunting liquid from his lungs and stomach in pathetic heaves. They laughed. A crowd of men held him with greedy hands, pulling at the rags he was soaked in. He could not scream. He was too desperate for breath. 

But he was not allowed even that.

He was plunged into the water again, dirty and wet and all-encompassing. His lungs filled. His vision darkened. His life sank into the depths of the filthy bucket. Another piece of him closed inwards, squeezed too tight by the pressure; cracking into nothingness. Each plunge stole his breath and his soul, breaking away at parts of it. Leaving him fragmented.

 

His legs gave way and Tony collapsed into the chill of the floor, gasping for the air he thought he’d been without. Tony pressed his face to the wood like the cold would save his life.

How long he lay there, he did not know. The room, once dark, was filling up with the murky light of a stormy morning, and rain pattered softly beyond the glass.

He had awoken, but he was not truly awake. This place, this room was not the familiar stern lines of Stark tower, nor the waxed grey ash of Malibu house. It was worn and constricted. Raw wood and rough cotton and warped glass. The not-real place inside his mind. The purgatory of half-living where he was a captive and his warden was the sharp-tongued cold-eyed; Loki. The man who would use magic to mend his body and release him back into the world. He would relegate Tony to a few more years of blind drunk days and white-knuckle nights until he eventually managed to die.

The chilled air clung to the inventor's clammy skin, causing it to prickle, and he leaned down numbly to pull up a discarded blanket over his shoulders. He was stiff and exhausted. His throat burned like he had swallowed cheap whiskey, making his breath rasp quietly when he strained to stand. His muscles twisted with discomfort, his feet were unsteady and it was the wall that had to support Tony. His shrouded form huddled against the knots of pine, breathing in shallow pants and squeezing his brows together in discomfort. Even the simple motion of standing after hours of tension was uncovering soreness from every muscle in his body. 

After only a moment of rest, he forced himself away from the crutch, taking three slow steps to the door, each one a fraction more confident than the last. He turned before opening it. His room seemed plain from here. Peaceful even. It was as if the walls hadn’t witnessed the hours of writing and silent screams, and he had only just seen it for the first time. It was a peace that made him feel uncomfortable. Tony pressed the knob and forced his way out, trying to break the spell that held him there and the tension in his mind.

The kitchen was dark and empty. The stove held no light, and the counter where Loki had taken out his anger still lay hewn in half, discarded and ignored. Tony shivered. He had expected to see him here, all pressed suit and dark eyes, reminding him to take care not to die or it would cause a lot of inconvenience. This absence of him somehow it made the nightmares perk up; seeping their dark fingers into his chest from the back of his mind. The kitchen seemed to stir in anticipation, darkness swelling as it and Tony realized he was still alone.

He could see those shadows again, crawling in at the edges of his vision. The memory of battery wires pulled at his frayed nerves. Tony’s lungs tightened. Across the kitchen, he saw the closed door to Loki’s bedroom. Darkness along the edges betrayed nothing of its occupants, but damn if he would prefer a pissed off god to the next queued-up thought spiral. He crossed the room with a frantic stumble, raping on the door without hesitation.

“Hey Rudolph, you in there?” Tony rasped. Silence was his reply. He knocked again, too soon, too loudly. “Loki?” His voice was tainted with desperation now, wood scratching at his knuckles. Still nothing. He shook the handle, fumbling with it and falling forwards when the door gave way. He clutched the frame, peering into the din for a sleeping form. The blankets of Loki’s bed were folded neatly at the foot, the sheets creaseless. The only sign of use was a small notebook left open on the side table with a quill tucked into the exposed crook. Its pages were so dark with ink that it appeared to sit in shadow. “Are you in here?” His whisper was greeted by a creeping fear.


	8. An Old Enemy

The darkness moved in like a skilled predator, quiet and efficient. He could feel it coming, like eyes on the back of his neck, it was hunting for him. The tension poured into Tony’s skin, flowing to his belly. It smiled from the murky corners of the room, but when he turned it was gone. Around him the fog drew closer, brushing at his feet with unseen tendrils.

He flinched.

It leaped

Tony burst from the cottage with a clattering bang, door swinging on its hinges. He sprinted out across the verdant meadow, bare feet sliding in the wetness, but he didn’t slow. His body galloped forwards as fast as it was able. His mind was so clouded by the oppressive tension in the house that he didn’t feel the strain of his lungs, the sear in his calves or the shock of weather on his skin. The rain coated him, washing his face in a chilly mist. His body, waist deep in tall grasses, was already soaked and strangled with clinging fabric. The outside. Some semblance of light emanated from the bleary saturated sky, but there was no comfort in it. His jaw clenched left Tony gasping though wet teeth. Onwards he fled. Down past the clusters of purple moor and long stemmed barley. Through a thicket of ripe milk weed, and over a cluster of rain slicked rocks. He felt his palms and feet sting but pressed on. Tony caught sight of a fluttering ribbon of movement, only to recognize it. Along its narrow shore, the man chased the gushing creek down the slope. While the chattering water sent a chill of panic through him, his ears hissed with auditory memory that only gave brief glimpses of the world; monopolizing his senses with gurgling screams and chattering bullets. A begging child. His own gagging sob. No matter how hard he ran the nightmares had no trouble following. He felt the distinct tremble of electricity. Laughter echoed just out of his sight.

His foot caught and the world folded over him violently. His head smashed into stone, face and chest plunged into the brook. His lungs swelled instinctually, filling with the bone numbing chill of water. Death seized him, thrusting its talons straight into his heart. He convulsed, but seemed to be suspended. Unable to rise out of or sink to the bottom of his liquid prison. His mouth gaped, eyes wide. Tony’s hands scrambled for purchase but they slipped helplessly over the loose stream bed.

A dark shape swam into view and he shoved at it with all his strength - a rock!- his body breached the water leeward and his mouth gaped like a fish, pouring water and gurgling with the hopeful intake of air. Acting only on instinct Tony he dragged his torso desperately into the grass where he convulsed, evacuating small mouthfuls of liquid with retching heaves. The taste of air stung his chest with as much pain as the water had, and he lay half submerged, coughing into his vomit.

Rivulets of liquid trickled over his face, catching in the hollow of his ear and the corners of his mouth. It tasted of metal, and he knew his head must be bleeding. It mingled in his wet hair and stained his skin with pink weeping lines. He was vaguely grateful that Loki hadn’t been around to see this. Maybe he could die in peace here, numb in the stream, caressed by a pool of his own blood and sick. Tony closed his eyes and lay still. His mind was quiet, his muscles loose and too cold to feel. He might have slept.

 

When he opened his eyes it was to the sound of a voice, and a pudgy hand feeling for a pulse in his wrist. “C’mon now Tony we’ve been through this before haven’t we? You and I both know you’re not that easy to kill.” The dark squinting eyes of a familiar face looked into him with a glimmer of amusement. “Get up now. It would be embarrassing if all it took was a blow to the head to finish you off” A laugh. “After all that hard work I had to put into it. Step up now, that’s it.”

He was hauled to his feet in a pinching grip and extracted from the stream with a rough jerk. His legs buckled, making him stumble into the firm round body of his rescuer, who laughed and slapped his back. “Looks like I arrived just in time. The forecast calls for rain, what do you say we find a place to wait it out, say that bunch of trees down there. Looks dry.” His mind whirled uselessly. Tony was shaken and forced to tilt his head up to view other man's face. He felt the familiarity but could not place the bead-like blue eyes or the wrinkled brow. “You’re usually the life of the party son, where’s all your vinegar? You’re not still mad about me threatening to kill Pepper, are you? She was just one woman Tony!” A grin and jostle, but Tony was disoriented and limp. Pepper? “And besides that’s all in the past now right? With me by your side, you’ll have all the time in the world to make it up to her. Just leave the company in my hands and you won’t have to worry about a thing. Take a vacation. Loosen up a bit, hey?” Obadiah Stane was wrapping an arm around Tony's shoulders with another too-hard pat on the back. The man supported him in a slow weak walk towards a cluster of shadowy trees. Tony hadn’t seen a forest there before, sitting in a meadow just down the hill. It was convalescing on a gently worn path that wound up the slope and ended right under their feet. His memory felt vague, and his head pulsed. His tongue was thick in his mouth. The bald mans hands were hot and unyielding. Even when Tony listed away uncomfortably he was holding him firmer, shoulder bruising and making him grimace. A fresh trickle of blood ran over his cheek.

“H-who?“ Tony licked at the corner of his mouth, it was metallic and bitter. “Who are you?” The man gave him no answers, just giving him a jovial grin and pressing them both onwards. Maybe this really was purgatory. Or the last flickers of his life, more likely. Old memories coming before him in the moments of death. Feelings of regret, shame, and fear but with no face to place them to. Just one buffeting emotion after another from triggers he couldn’t recognize.

A breeze kicked up in his face, blowing the wet smell of moss and foliage. A shadow fell over the two of them like a damp embrace. The ground changed under his bare feet, pressing little pebbles and dried needles into the still-cold flesh. Trees murmured with the sound of branches catching the falling rain, whispering their leaves. The flora became old and tall and cramped. It knit around the path so thickly that Obadiah pushed Tony to walk in front, never leaving so much as a footstep between them. The feral grip on his arm was shifted to his shoulder, which clicked unnaturally under the pressure. Tony gasped in sudden pain, which made him stumble. The hand was gone, but the sharp twist of pain persisted. Tony held his left clavicle and swore through his teared up eyes. He sank to his knees. “For fuck sake!”

The hot breath of his old mentor was brushing his neck, freckling the skin with bumps. “Sorry ‘bout that Tony, looked like you might have broken it when you fell, I just wanted to make sure.”

And like that the glass of confusion shattered. That touch. That voice. His heart skipped over itself in a hurry to accelerate with panic. He tried to sort it out, to figure how it was possible that Obadiah- that Obie -was here. That he was alive! His body was sending out orders of panic, but through the distraction of pain, his mind found itself and cleared.

Okay. He had to think. He had to work his way out of the molasses in his head and give this some critical analysis. What did he know? Obie was here. He himself had suffered a trauma to the head but it was hard to hallucinate a sensation like pain and Obadiah’s grip hurt. So presumably he was real. What else? He could walk, so no serious fractures in his legs or spine. His left collar bone was clearly broken and restricted his movement but it was nothing unusable. He was wet. His clothing from falling into the creek had been soaked through but not his shoes. This was because his shoes were still back at the cabin. Back with Loki. Oh. Right. He had nearly forgotten about that. Loki was somewhere too, he’d gone missing. Out of reflex, Tony glanced over his shoulder. Obadiah gave a crocodile smile. Tony turned back with a grimace. Obadiah might have saved him from drowning in the creek, but the inventor knew he wasn’t out of danger yet. The man was testing his body now. Seeing how injured, how cloudy his mind. Trying to work out how pliant Tony would be for whatever he was planning. But Tony wasn’t giving away all his cards yet. He would play bleary-eyed for now and figure out exactly what Obadiah was after.

A hand under his arm raised Tony to his feet, stumbling a step as they began to move down the path. Playing into his condition Tony slowed the pace, keeping his calculating look away from the cheerful captor. After only a few hundred meters the trees broke away to reveal a small stony clearing.

They waited in clusters, peering out between each other to see what was coming. Their voices chittered and trilled with excitement, growing restless when Tony and Obadiah stepped into view. Tony felt his heart flip but walked forwards as calmly as he could, feeling the brush of his mentor's fingers against his neck.

“Do you recognize my soldiers Tony? After New York, a few troops got separated from the pack. They turned out to be quite loyal and pliant after they were worked on for a while.” Obadiah lead Tony by his neck to a large gray rock at the center of the dell. Without ceremony he shoved Tony hard against it and watched the man slide down, clutching his broken arm.

Tony could hear the scuffle of gravel, and the shadow of Obadiah paced over him. There was a pause and the rush of fabric. A foot swept forward and kicked the inventor hard in the side.  
The cry of pain escaped his lips just as a second kick found home, burying into the ribs of his chest with a firm crack.  
He couldn’t gasp.

“I’m disappointed to see that I wasted my time bringing them here. I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

A third swift impact, this one burying itself into his stomach, which heaved on its own accord.  
Obadiah crouched, pulling Tony’s face from where it had been protected under his good arm. His jaw was held firmly, pinching the blood slicked skin. Their faces were so close together for a moment. Clear glassy eyes inspecting him without an ounce of emotion. Obadiah licked his lips.  
The grip tightened for only a moment and his other hand swung hard, sending a flash of light and shooting pain into Tony’s head. A second pain came when he was thrown back against the rock, head snapping to meet it. Even with closed eyes, he could see stars tinted in that impassive blue. It contrasted curiously with the taste of blood in his mouth. He held himself up, not allowing his weak knees to give in under the weight of his weeping body.

“What are you doing here?” Tony ground out. He was granted a low chuckle in response.

“What are you doing here, Tony? I heard that you were scheduled to die. I just thought I’d help you out. That’s what I’ve always wanted Tony. To help you.”

“You set me up.”

A tut. “I did, I’ll grant you that. It wasn’t the first time either. I’m glad you came back though. That little gift, the Arc Reactor that you brought me, oh that was quite the present. But it seems, as I have before, I underestimated you, Tony. After all this time I thought you were so weak, so helpless and easy to manipulate with drugs and women and liquor; but I was wrong. You are strong. So much like your father these days. Building weapons again, building an empire again all around yourself and your whims. It’s like I’m seeing history reborn.”

The heat of anger burned in Tony “I am nothing like him.”

“Oh?” Obadiah drew close. Something metallic whispered in his hand, but Tony didn’t look. He didn’t need to. He felt the press of the cold knife on his broken shoulder in the next moment anyway. The relief of temperature was short-lived when it broke the skin, silently slicing open the pale stretched flesh to reveal a fractured white bone beneath. It bled willingly. “I see him in you, Tony. I see him in the way your eyes follow Pepper when she walks, the way your mouth is always a step ahead of your brain. The way you twist your lips, yes just like that, when you’re in pain.” His laughter smelled sour. “You are just like your father in so many ways. I’m more than happy to add another to the list when I get to kill you too.”

Tony felt his heart shutter. His… father. “No.” But he was only greeted with wide smiling teeth. “NO!”

Tony lunged forwards, knocking the blade from his mentor's grip. He threw himself over him, bringing both men to the ground in a skitter of stones. His fingers, sticky and red, wrapped needfully around Obadiah’s throat, squeezing through the pain of his own body to cut the life from the man who taunted him. He lifted, smashing Obadiah’s head against the ground, over and over, squeezing and shaking him to the sound of his own screaming voice. He could feel the pudgy fingers fighting back, clawing at his fingertips, then scratching upwards at his face, dragging sharp nails over the bleeding cut on his cheek. Tony only shook harder. The fingers fell away. Still, he squeezed.

A shadow at the corner of his vision made him flinch, and a hard strike to his head made his eyes grow wet. His fingers slipped from Obi’s neck and he slid to the ground. The world sang in his ears with a keening whirr. Figures swarmed around him.

His heart was pounding like the beating of horses hooves, a siege in his chest that grew louder and louder. Fingers that had been grabbing at his limbs suddenly let go, scattering away like startled insects. The ringing that plagued him was broken by a screaming whiny.

Weapons flew from holsters, black metal shining in the air. The creatures drew in again, surrounding him with their backs turned, bracing to fend off a foe that Tony couldn’t see. A great charging beast who’s stomping feet made the ground around him tremble.

“Iron Man, do you yet live?”

It was Loki.

Never in his life was Tony so filled with emotion. His mind had gone numb, flooded over with anger and pain and disbelief, and now Loki who for the second time had shown up when he was certain he would die. He lay in utter disbelief.

“I-I hope you don’t think I’m paying you back for this” He managed weakly. Somewhere beyond the crowd, the prince chuffed.

A blade carved through the air, slicing through the bodies around him, and two at a time they started to fall, moving after the horse and its rider only to meet with the long shiny blade it bore. The horse circled, stomping and rearing, weaving its deadly master through the mass of chitauri soldiers who swarmed to it with tactless abandon. Their blood mixed with the rain, pooling in deep shadows throughout the clearing. The corpses began to outnumber the chittering living, who dove and lunged and drove forwards.

Tony slowly stood, holding his limp arm with grim acceptance. He shuffled to look over Obadiah after a moment of hesitation. He knew what he would see. The man lay moist and still in the gray light. His eyes sat open but unmoving. Dull and listless and dead. The horse circled on around them. The monsters from his nightmares chased and fell and shared the same fate as his wet dead mentor. The same fate that he himself should have shared.

To finally lay down and die. 

But no.

 

Because there was Loki.

The horse sauntered forwards, muddy and bloodied and white. Its rider was flushed in the face but his eyes were glittering.

Tony smiled weakly. 

“You could have brought one of those flying ships, the one with guns.” 

Loki seemed to look over him with a warriors appraisal. “This seemed more suiting to a damsel in distress.”

A gurgle of hysteria escaped Tony’s lips as a laugh. Was he a damsel now? “We gotta go, I have a feeling there are more on the way.” 

The prince shifted, folding his long blade into a sheath on his back. He wore armour, dark and curved and leather. To Tony, Loki looked more alien than ever, something out a children’s story.

“You seemed quite keen to die yesterday, are you sure you’d not rather I just leave you?”

 A guilty smile managed to quirk Tony’s lips. “S’a bit more fun when you’re doing it on your own terms.”

 Loki shrugged and the horse settled, folding its front legs and kneeling gracefully. A pale hand reached down and they gripped each other's elbows. “Sit in front, I will not have you falling off.”

 Tony looked affronted, furrowing his brow down on a blackening eye. “What?”

 “Idiot, you have a broken clavicle, it is unlikely you would have the strength ride with me from behind”

 Tony felt his face pale. “Well, when you put it like that.”

 With a wince the inventor hauled himself up in front of Loki, noting the horses broad shoulders where there would usually be a saddle. The prince spoke while surveying the tree-line.

 “I can support you better if you lean into me. You didn’t come across as a shy maiden when we were sharing a drink earlier, or are you concerned that your blood will put me off. I assure you I’ve seen worse.”

 The chills he experienced were a mix of discomfort and terror and thrill. One cold arm wrapped around his hips, pulling him into a steadfast embrace. His bruised back connected with Loki’s chest, and when the horse rose they moved as one. Braided leather reins were swept up into his rescuer's free hand and snapped twice. The horse surged forwards and the grip that held the two men together tightened an infinitesimal fraction. Tony could feel the strain of the creature’s muscles. The sweat on its skin and the tangles in its mane. He felt the pulse of his would-be rescuer and the thrill in his breath when the horse broke through the trees. For having just slaughtered two dozen of his own ex-minions the prince seemed to be utterly proud of himself.

 The great beast shifted and pranced expertly, skirting up the rocky hillside with unearthly dexterity and setting off again at speed over the flat lush plain of the meadow. 

 

Loki had saved his life.

 

Again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A really special thanks to those amazing folks who bookmarked last week! That means so much to me and really drove some passion towards writing these last seven days. Every time I got stuck or wasn't sure about the pacing I just thought of your anticipation and felt encouraged. Without you, this would have taken a whole lot longer.
> 
> To each person who reads, bookmarks, gives kudos and most of all, writes me a lovely comment... I just love you all. You feed my shameless ego and totally make my day. So hugs for you all. Thank you.
> 
> Lastly, we're through the rough bits! Aka all the parts I knew I had to slog through before I could get down to what I actually wanted to write; Loki and Tony being shamelessly cute for my entertainment and yours. Not to mention a glorious basket of smut between these two. Thank you for hanging in there. Thank you for liking this story already even though we haven't gotten to the good part yet, and double thank you for that amazing comment you're definitely about to write me! Yes you! Just a cheeky hello, I don't care! Do it. Do it for more horseback riding. Do it for tea in bed. Do it for a fireplace scene. (Do it for the smuuuut)  
> DO IT FOR ALL THE BITS I HAVE PLANNED BUT YOU HAVENT SEEN YET! 
> 
> Lots of love!


	9. Sorrel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sweet little piece of fluff before we really dive deeply into this tentative relationship.

The posture of the inventor grew limp just beyond the river. The house was in sight, though distant, and with just one arm around his hips, Loki knew that Stark would slide off the horse before they galloped a hundred paces more. Loki released the reins and captured his weak passenger in an embrace just as he began to slide away. Both of Loki’s arms pulled Tony into the crook of his shoulder, bloodied head tilted and bouncing gently on the leather. The small impacts drew little rivulets of blood fresh from the wound which chased one another down the crease between their pressed bodies. It added a small sucking to the deep melody of hooves and animal breathing.

His eyes flicked over the bruised face of Anthony Stark who, even in rest, didn’t seem to calm his mind. Eyes flicked under lids, his brow creased and Loki felt a sobering cloud mute the shiny post-battle adrenaline. 

That huge stranger, and the Chitauri who stood by him… Tony had imagined these for himself, and they inflicted honest pain into him which Tony bore without fracturing the illusion. Even when Tony had looked down upon the master he had killed, there had been a regret in his face that Loki knew so well. Not the deep lingering kind that reflected a long suffering, but the short selfish regret of a game ended too soon. A suffering not tasted long enough and an un-sated look of desire.

It was only in seeing this face that Loki realized he was looking into a mirror.

He hadn’t given the mortal enough credit, that was clear. Stark was more dedicated to arranging his own death than even Loki’s keen mind could have predicted. Sure, he had said so the night of the funeral but he had also drunk half a bottle of scotch and admitted a desire to see him without clothing. It was hard to tell when the man was being serious or just speaking for the sake of tasting his own voice. 

Even in sleep, his lips moved. They pruned and twisted like he was bathing in a bad memory. In another moment those lips drew so thinly together that the colour drained from them, revealing little cracks and cuts and blood which stained the corners. A tongue wet them anxiously. A ribbon of pink.

Loki lifted his chin up to look away and bear the cool mist of rain across his face. It was too easy to see himself there, bruised and bloodied in the arms of another. But he would not patronize Anthony with sweet coos and forgiveness he hadn’t earned. He was not his brother. “Faster if you can manage it Sólhvít”

“Is that concern I hear?” Whispered Tony. His breath smelled of metal.

Loki memorized the image of the nearing house with his eyes, not allowing himself to look down. Loki urged his ankles harder into the mare. 

A hiss of pained laughter trembled in his arms “Back to brooding now? I shouldn’t be surprised I guess, the only time I’ve ever seen you look honestly happy and you were beating the shit out of those Chitauri. And here I thought you were just pleased to see me.”

A flash of annoyance wrinkled across Loki’s nose. “It is easy to forget one's self in the heat of a battle. It is a task where the body takes over and the mind must relinquish power to instinct. I felt nothing.” A pause lay between them.

“I think I know whatcha mean.” Stark sighed, twisting in his arms. Loki looked down before he realized his mistake. 

Their eyes met. Tony’s were that bright sorrel brown they had been at the party, but the pupils were wide and black and searching, leaving only a thin ring of freckled colour which Loki stared into, unwillingly frozen. He was trapped there. His heart betrayed him in an appalling way. And if only for a moment he thought the man was about to say something. 

He wouldn’t hear it.

“Do not burden me with your sympathies.” Loki snapped, and thrust Tony off of him, battered body tumbling down into a bramble of heather. Of all the insolent- he swore under his breath, kicking into the horse with barely restrained fury. It screamed and tore away through the grass. Loki gripped the reins and tangled mane with his fists. 

What in seven realms was that? One pretty look and suddenly he had lost his control? 

But that look hadn’t been pretty. It was bruised and red and torn. It was brown eyes rimmed with red sclera and swollen skin that hinted at purple. It was blood at the edges. No. It hadn’t been a pretty look, but he had seen it before on another face. It had been kind.

It hurt his stomach.

“kalt djöfull“

With a huff of breath and a tug, Loki wheeled the filthy horse around in a wide circle, rounding back to the collapsed man before dismounting almost upon him. He was angry, but he was angry with himself.

Tony looked offended. “What the fuck was that for?” He cried out, waving his hands in dismay “you pushed me!”

“How else do you propose I remove you from the horse? Were you going to climb down on your own? She’s nearly twice your height.” The lie came so easily to him it was as if another had spoken through his lips. Yes, they had reached the house and it was true that removing Anthony from Sólhvít would have been tricky but Loki certainly had no reason to simply cast him off like a saddlebag. But he had been confused, and it had been easy.

“I think you broke my leg”

“Do not exaggerate, Stark. Come I will tend to your injuries out of this rain.” Loki strode over him, giving the equine a dismissive wave and dissolving her into a heady steam. It mixed with the weather and caught in the wind, twisting upwards and out of sight. At the door to their cottage, the mage paused, giving consideration, trying to submerge his thoughts into the task ahead. He did not think of those lips. He did not think of how the wood was so dull in colour compared to the irises he had been trapped by. No, he simply pressed his fingers against the thick grain and worked his skills, mending and changing the interior of their home with little more than a few breaths and a bit of conviction. A shuffle of fabric behind him indicated that the mortal had managed to get up and follow.

“Your horse-“ the entry opened and Loki strode in, admiring his handiwork and ignoring the question. “My room! What is this about, Loki?”

The cottage was much as it had been. The warmth of the kitchen broke upon Loki like a wave, heat rolled off of the crackling copper stove with buffeting clouds of comfort and beckoned him with a glittering fire, and a steaming kettle. The wall that had once divided this room from Starks was now gone, replaced by a large overbearing bed strewn with thick blankets and furs and a headboard of dark cherry that bore carvings. It sat so domineeringly in the room that it was the first thing to be seen, overshadowing even the lovely stove. It was his own bed from Asgard, or a reflection of it, brought here for Tony to recover in. A place where Loki could monitor his injuries with little trouble and no distance between them. His own room, of course, was still untouched, sitting quietly behind its door as it had been. Stark didn’t seem to care for his practicality. 

“What, I don’t get any privacy now? I have to sleep out here like an animal?”

“I hardly think an animal would have such a marvelous bed.” Loki sniffed, pressing his fingers into a mink pelt and admiring the softness. “Your injuries are rather serious, I will have to tend to you for some time and this will allow me to do so with more ease. I am practiced in the ways of healing so you need not worry. Your health benefits me, you needn’t fear malpractice.”

“You just shoved me off a horse.”

“And you are fine, are you not?” 

Tony’s face twisted uncomfortably and Loki blinked, puzzled. Tony gave an unfortunate gasp.

“YAAAH-CHOOOH!” The sneeze deafened them both, and the human took an unsteady step backward from the force of it.

Loki grimaced, striding completely into Tony’s space and grabbed Stark’s collar, pulling their faces together suddenly until their foreheads touched. Loki held his breath, eyes pressed shut, feeling the temperature difference between them.

“Lo-“

“You have a fever.” He shoved him towards the bed, wiping away their contact from his face with a hand. “Strip from your wet clothing and get in, you need to stay warm in order to avoid worse illness.”

“Are you fucking kidding me Loki?! You can’t just expect me to get naked in front of you. I don’t need you to help me here, I’m f-“ a sudden wave of dizziness caught him off guard. The frame of the bed met his lower back, supporting him with a plush embrace. “I’m fine..” He trailed off quite pathetically. Loki only scowled. 

“Strip. Bed.” His voice was cold and remorseless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra special thank you to Kairyn who has been so supportive and lovely in the comments. Every single one has me more excited than ever to continue writing this.


	10. Beautiful Fever

Tony could still feel the cold burn of Loki’s skin against his face. He couldn’t be sure if his face was flush with fever, or if prince charming’s forehead was as frigid as the glare he challenged him with.

“I will not ask again.” 

The quietness of his voice was worse than the tone. It was nothing like the show of strength last time they had been in the kitchen together when the counter had cracked under Loki’s fingertips. Somehow though, it was just as threatening. Tony felt rebellion struggle under the weakness of his limbs. Strength had come and gone from him as quickly as a snapping lighter. The quiet threats of Loki’s words contrasted with unfamiliar vulnerability had lit some kind of energy-sapping fire which left Tony in little more than a breathless daze. 

And now Loki was asking him to strip naked while he stood there and watched.

The warmth of anxiety ghosted his ears. 

“You wanna turn around or something first, maybe cover your eyes, make friends with a spot on the ceiling.”

Loki blinked.

“I don’t show off the goods on a first date,” Tony snapped. Not strictly true, but he didn’t need to know that. 

After a moment of understanding, the alien broke his gaze (did he roll his eyes?), turned and opened the door to his dark, empty room. He took a few steps in without closing it and began shucking his own armour off without much care. The pieces fell away and sublimated into steam before they hit the ground, sputtering and crackling.

Tony figured that was as good as he was going to get, and groped at the buttons of his shirt, pulling away the cloying wet fabric with a few hurried tugs. He slung the bloodied cloth over a chair and continued with his pants, sliding out the leather belt and fumbling with the fly. A louder snap and fizz distracted him, and he looked up. Loki was turned away, pulling open a drawer. Tony felt his heart stutter. Loki was nearly naked but for the marred canvas of his back which bore three huge red scars. They wrapped from his shoulder down past his hips. Deep mouth like injuries that bred butterflies the inventor's stomach. They looked mostly healed, but painfully fresh. The skin around them was buckled and feathered at the edges like the pieces that were missing had been torn away by huge claws and it was all the skin around it could do to fill in the gaps. Fingers of pale flesh reached helplessly over the void, trying to knit the wound together but unable to reach all the way. 

That… that wasn’t something the Chitauri were capable of. Not the ones they had seen today. Had Loki been in battle recently besides that? Thor himself had said he’d been in a cell the last two years, safely held under Asgard. 

His guts twisted. Maybe that cell hadn’t been so safe.

A shirt fluttered over the marks, barring Tony’s view. 

“Asking someone to turn their face, and then proceeding to stare doesn’t seem too sporting, Stark.” Murmured Loki, pawing through another drawer. “You had better move quicker, or I may get the impression that you need assistance.”

Tony didn’t flinch. Nope. He didn’t. He just got back to pulling down one leg of his pants at a time and chucking the wet wool with the rest of his clothes. Lastly a quick tug of the skivvies, yikes. Sand had accumulated on his skin, maybe that was from when he fell in the river? He brushed it away hurriedly, sending particles chattering across the floor. Right. Good enough. He glanced quickly up at Loki, who was still calmly turned away, fidgeting with what looked like a scarf. Tony rounded the bed and pulled aside the blankets. They were heavy and the underside was lined with thick brown fur. He hesitated. This was going to be weird.

It was already weird.

He was grateful that no one else would ever see any of this. With another glance at the door, he climbed up and into the tall bed. Tony eased himself in slowly. It was apparent as soon as it gave way and embraced him that this was no bed from earth. It was supple and frustratingly pliant. He was almost sucked down into it and had to shift tactfully to stay upright. The pelts caressed his skin with an immediate warmth that rivalled his feather duvets but they were easily twice as soft. 

After a moment of repositioning, he settled back into the pile of pillows and pulled the fur covers over his hips. The entire thing was a marshmallow embrace. The warmth of the fire next to him crept in and blushed his skin.

He sighed and his eyes fluttered closed. He would just lay there for a minute.

Footsteps padded across the floor. The fireplace door whined and a piece of wood was placed inside. Loki moved away and sounds of cupboards opening and closing filled the room. Porcelain being shifted, a knife being pressed down over a wooden board in a quiet repetitive chant. The smell of herbs. Skin brushing wood. Fabric swishing together.

Tony relaxed. Each one of his muscles, one by one, slowly gave into the sounds around him. The soft bed, so warm and encompassing. The gentle buffet of the fireplace’s heat against his skin. The cool contrast of the furs against his face, which soothed his bruised skin. 

For the first time since he had arrived, his mind quieted. Running through routine diagnostics for Jarvis’ tower programming, then doing the same for each of his peripherals, like the suits and Malibu house. Some simple calculations, a few diagrams. Peaceful really.

The chopping continued. Something bubbled in a pan. The smell of garlic and tomatoes and something sweet greeted his nose. From deep under the blankets, his stomach rumbled.

He opened one eye blearily.

“Good evening.” Came a quiet voice. Loki was sitting in a chair he hadn’t seen before. A leather something that he draped himself over, legs on the armrest type deal. He was a few inches deep into a heavy looking book and didn’t look up.

Evening? Had he fallen asleep? “I thought time didn’t matter here.” He mumbled, rubbing his face. Ow. He gently fingered what felt like a large bruise.

“It is relative. Time exists in this place, but it does not run in parallel to your Midgard. Nor does it to Asgard.” 

“Good to know the laws of relativity apply inside you and Thor’s mind palace. At least you can count on some things not changing in alien land.” He sniffed “Did I smell something cooking earlier? I could go for some food.”

“I’ve put aside a few meals for you, however, I may suggest tending to your injuries before eating. I prepared a salve and bandages if you’ll allow me.” He leaned the book against his chest, tilling his head to look Tony over. His expression melted from impassive to pained. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Donner.”

Loki gracefully stood, laying his book over the chair. He strode behind the island, which to Tony’s surprise appeared to be in one piece again. The kettle on the stove was swept up and poured into a deep bowl. Immediately a floral medicinal scent filled the room, making Tony wrinkle his nose. Loki pulled some strips of fabric from a cupboard and ferried them and the bowl over to the far side of the bed. The prince lay his wares on the side table looked them over, like he was making sure everything was there.

“How many times have you done this?” Tony asked warily. The thought of Loki coming near him when he was incapacitated fired warning signals in his brain.

“Hmm?” Long fingers counted through the bandages. “More than you’ve done so yourself, so please refrain from suggesting you’d like to tend your own injuries. Here,” he was passed a little towel. “For your modesty.” Jibed Loki.

It was only then that Tony became acutely aware that he was naked under the blankets. He tucked the fabric between his skin and the furs. It was a bit cold in contrast and he felt his skin retreat in despair.

A plank of oiled wood was placed on the bed beside Tony, and a second later the alien followed, placing the bowl of heady water and the bandages between them. He kneeled very close, having no apparent trouble with the beds devouring tendencies, and perching quite easily on the sheets. His fingers pulled the blankets Tony was wrapped in and he tugged them away until he was completely exposed.

Tony stiffened.

“I’m not going to steal your virtue.” Scolded Loki. “I’m just going to wash you and bind your injuries.”

That didn’t really help him relax. This was Loki. Throw him out a window, kidnap Barton and kill Agent, Loki. The bag full of cats that destroyed half of New York in an afternoon. He wasn’t keen on being washed by him.

“Bit late for my virtue, I’m afraid I misplaced that in the summer of 1987.”

Loki chuffed under his breath, pressing a cloth into the water. “It is easy to forget how strangely time passes for your kind.” He leaned forwards. “Please close your eyes.” 

“I don’t really-“

“Trust me?” Loki paused. “You are in too deep to worry about trust with me, Stark. Please believe me when I say that I can kill you without even moving my hands, I simply need think that you should die, and so it would be. Do not give me that look, I have explained to you already that injury to you is not in my best interest. Your living is all that keeps me from a wrath I am not keen to experience. It is me more than anyone that you should trust in this place. I am the only thing that is not a figment of your fevered mind.”

“You think I'm going to believe you’re telling me the truth?”

“I feel saving your life today ought to prove my intention, but no. You are stubborn and suspicious like all creatures who live short and violent lives.”

Loki leaned in again, the cloth was hot and pressed steam into his face. His skin seemed to drink it in, aching sweetly at the touch of the moisture. He winced when it pulled across the bruise on his cheek. Loki’s speech did nothing to soothe his anxiety, but he couldn’t deny that Loki hadn’t made any obvious attempts to hurt him. The most he’d done was take out his anger on a table, and murder the creatures who tried to kill him.

Loki swept the cloth across his lip and it stung, pressing fresh blood from a split in the skin. The cloth dabbed at it, sealing the wound with whatever properties were held within the water. The pain there numbed and ebbed away.

Tony lifted his fingers to touch the healed cut, blinking in surprise.

“How did you do that?”

“There are many skills and gifts that the As are blessed with which humankind are not. This, however, I am able to do because of our environment. Inside the sanctuary, one is able to control what is seen by accessing and manipulating their conviction. It is with this that I can close your wounds, it is also how I made the bed you lay in, created the armour I wore and summoned Sólhvít.”

“Conviction? You mean just by wanting something, you can make it happen? How?”

Loki wrung the cloth out into the bowl, tinting the water pink. “It is similar to magic in many ways, but instead of utilizing the pathways forged by the World Tree, one is using the pathways within themselves. You simply will what you’d like into existence, and, so long as you continue to do so, what you desire will appear.”

He picked up a small dish that Tony hadn’t seen before and swept a bead of clear salve onto his fingers.

“Close your eyes.” He insisted. With a frown Tony did so. The cream was waxy and cold, pressed into his sore orbital bone and along the line of his cheek. He pulled away and the cloth was soaked again, this time sweeping down Tony’s neck and along with his collar.

“Ow.” he swore, flinching a fraction when Loki passed along the deep wound at his shoulder.

“Apologies.” The prince whispered. He leaned into Tony, pressing one hand into the mattress and looking closely at the cut. “This will take some time to heal, it is superficial for the most part but in an unfortunate location. You must wear a sling to encourage the bones to knit again.”

“Isn’t that something that you can just _will_ into healing?”

Loki shook his head “creating objects is one thing, but encouraging cellular growth becomes more complicated. It isn’t something you want to get wrong. No, letting the bone mend on its own is a wiser idea.” He pressed the soaked cloth into the cut again, squeezing water into the crevasse and flushing it out. It stung. The water ran down Tony’s chest and skirted the casing of the arc reactor before sliding over his ribs and down into the bed. Fingers brushed the skin where it was wet, tracing the metal. “It would be beneficial if you were to explain this." Tony said nothing. "Perhaps in a few days when you’ve regained your strength. Knowledge of the machine that is killing you can only benefit the countermeasures taken against it. It may hasten our time here together.”

Tony looked away and grimaced. The touch was foreign. Uncomfortable. The thought of explaining his reactor to Loki was so innately wrong that his skin crawled at the thought of it.

The fingers retreated to his arms, skating along the muscles and searching for any injuries. Wiping away the dirt and sweat. Loki leaned back and placed the cloth in the bowl. With deft skill he unfurled a narrow strip of fabric and placed it over Tony’s shoulder, covering the fresh blood that pooled in the cut. 

Tony leaned forwards, allowing Loki to wrap the bandage over his shoulder and under his arm. He bound it firmly, limiting Tony’s movement but supporting the injury with a comforting firmness. He was careful to avoid the reactor, seeming to recognize Tony’s discomfort. Well, that was a nice change. Loki fastened the tail of the fabric sling with a tiny red pin.

“Is that a beetle?”

“Yes, they’re native to Asgard. When dried the carapace remains exceptionally strong. The spines on the tibia and tarsus catch the threads of fabric with great ease so they’re often used in medicine to keep bindings together, though they are also used in clothing and jewellery as fasteners.

Tony tapped the shell with his fingernail. It sounded hollow but hard. He was tempted to pull it free and look at it closer but refrained. He would do it later when Loki wasn’t around.

The cloth was out again, sweeping in larger passes now over his uninjured arm and across his chest. Loki stopped here and there to inspect bruises and nicks, but they were deemed too shallow to warrant a wrap and he just swept over them with the pleasant wax. He leaned Tony forwards and washed his back, rubbing salve over the large bruise that must have been there. Tony hadn’t even noticed it.

Loki pressed him back into the pillows and Tony sighed. “Last time I was this banged up someone had thrown me out a window.”

“After seeing what you accomplished in only a few hours, I’m surprised you aren’t constantly in a state of disrepair. Though being thrown from a window is rather excessive.”

Excessive? Tony laughed. Was Loki calling his own tantrum excessive? But Loki’s face was calm and inquisitive, meeting Tony’s eyes with nothing that looked like recognition.

“Loki,”

“Nearly finished.” He shifted, pulling the board with his bandages and water further down. The cloth wiped the sand and grime from Tony’s hips, was rinsed, and scrubbed over the spots again. “Maintain your composure if you please.” He warned while rinsing the cloth.

“That really isn’t necessary-“ Stark sat up suddenly.

“And if you have a femoral haemorrhage and are quietly bleeding to death within your body?” Loki countered.

“I feel fine!” He insisted loudly.

Loki quirked an eyebrow.

“I would rather bleed out!” Tony amended. But his assurances were ignored. 

Quick and business-like Loki dipped the cloth between Tony’s thighs and cleaned the skin hidden between and under them. Tony looked at the ceiling, praying (for the first time in his life), that he was having a really bad dream. The cloth continued though, down and along each of his calves before it was pressed into the water again and wrung clean. It was the most uncomfortable thing that had probably ever been done to him. Flying into the mouth of a giant whale machine from space was more comfortable than Loki’s cold fingers inspecting the skin between his legs. He grit his teeth and vowed to block the memory out forever.

“Your feet are in a quite poor condition. You really ought to put shoes on next you decide on sprinting to your death.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Loki pulled one of Tony’s feet into his lap, brushing his fingers gently over the shallow cuts. “You will need to stay off your feet for the next day. Resting for several days would be ideal but somehow I feel as though that will be impossible for you.”

Tony smothered something between a grimace and a wince. The ticklish pain of the cloth cleaning his damaged feet was some kind of twisted blend that made him writhe against his will.

“My point proven.” Loki wrapped each foot deftly in a beautiful herringbone pattern and fastened the ends with a pair of matching ruby insects which sat prettily at the top of Tony’s feet. “I believe that settles the matter of your physical wounds, save one. You have a large fissure on your head which needs to be cleaned and bound.

Tony felt his heart stop. Cleaning his head. That would require getting wet. After all the water he’d had today, between hallucinations and his dive into the river he didn’t feel any inclination at all to be submerged for any length of time. Least of all by Loki.

Infections be damned.

Between them Tony played with the frayed edge of the fabric sling, trying to decrease the growing tension in his chest.

“Can I eat first?”

Loki eyed him carefully. “If you must.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the views this week, I can't believe that between this chapter and the last we hit over 300! I'm totally floored and thoroughly thrilled.  
> Because of that, I decided to make this a bit of a longer one! I'm striving to keep the word count for each chapter up from what it has been so that they're more satisfying!
> 
> All comments, suggestions, and kudos are so very much appreciated! Each one makes me give a cheery little squeal in front of whoever happens to be around. Coworkers, strangers, just myself quietly refreshing the screen in a dark room to see if anyone is reading, the usual!


	11. Conviction

Loki leaned away and shifted off the bed, dragging the wooden tray laden with bowls of medicine away. He tipped it against his hip and held it there while he pulled off the creams and salves and set them on the side table closest to Tony. His movements were precise. Every movement had intent and purpose. He lay the tray on the island and poured the bloodied water and cloth in the sink. Then he moved to the fridge with the intent of pulling out food. But he was so slow about it. 

Cautious.

Like he considered Tony to be a pet that might spook if he moved quickly in his presence. 

Tony did not like being treated like an invalid (even if he was one.) That kind of thing rubbed him wrong in so many ways. It was that kind of shit he had been trying to escape in the first place; when everyone back home had found out about the core leaking. That cloying sympathy had plagued him worse than the pain in his chest. 

Sad looks from Pepper. Cautious orders from Cap. Bruce stopping by the workshop too often. Natasha shadowing him when he left the tower. The whole team walking on eggshells, babying and giving him _that look._

That too sweet, sad but accepting, helicopter parent look. 

Tony could admit that he was slipping. His control was leaking through his fingers like so much palladium into his blood. And sure, the nightmares were getting worse too. But getting that treatment from Loki? From an enemy-coaxed-nursemaid that would usually have him at the other end of a blade? 

Somehow that made it so much worse.

A pair of eyes settled on him. He didn’t have to see it to know, the crawling skin on his neck was warning enough. Tony clenched his teeth and looked up into cold green eyes.

He was halted mid-stride, fridge open and hands occupied with a large dish, the action in contrast with Loki’s face that wore a look of simmering annoyance. 

“I am no nursemaid, Stark.” 

Tony felt his temper rise to cover a flood of anxiety. And now he was speaking his thoughts without even thinking about it. Sonofa-how much had he said? His first instinct was to look over a recording, but he didn’t have Jarvis to tell him. No safeguards. No recorders.

No solid baseline on what was real and what was in his head.

It occurred to Tony that between him and Loki, he didn’t know who was the most mentally balanced in the room.

“When we arrived here together I offered you freedom.” The bowl found the counter and Loki pulled plates from a cupboard slightly louder than was necessary. “It was far from my intention to bind myself to you with trivial chatter and company. However, you have proven quite thoroughly that you are incapable of taking care of yourself. Less than a day alone and you run off into a storm and dream up a lovely little ambush.” He divided the food between the plates with a large spoon cast from a flame of magic. 

Tony swore. “You didn’t exactly warn me that they’d be out there. Didn’t you call this place a sanctuary?“

Loki stabbed a fork into a piece of pasta and ate it while talking. “There was nothing to warn about. There is no one here but you and I and whatever is willed between the two of us. Not only did you create the monsters who beat you in the woods, but you asked for every injury they committed. It was with your own conviction that your body was wounded, and with mine that you are healing again.”

Tony opened his mouth to protest but Loki pressed on.

“Please do not take me for a fool. I remember what you said that night in Midgard, and it was a lie. I can see the wish of death upon you as clearly as you desire life. But death is not winning your battle. Here.” A plate was shoved into Tony’s hands.

“Ah, this is the one you’ve been eating out of.”

“Considering it a childminding fee.”

Loki tossed himself back into the chair by the fire and twisted his fork until it was laden with sauce, plunging it into his mouth. Tony had never seen someone eat while so indignant, but Loki did it well, if somewhat messily. A streak of red tomato dotted his chin, but Tony decided not to mention it.

He turned to his own bowl and scooped up a curl. “Uh, Rachel Ray? This is cold.”

“It’s perfectly within your power to warm it up.”

“Just a minute ago you told me not to leave the bed!” Tony wiggled his feet to make the point.

“We reside in a place where the conviction within you alters the state of the world. Since you are capable, use it to warm your meal.”

“I didn’t do any of that on purpose. I have no idea how Obadiah and the Chitauri appeared, have no control over whatever conviction you’re talking about.”

Loki looked thoughtful, chewing away while he puzzled out some problem in his head. Tony sighed and leaned back against the headboard, forking his plate absently. When Loki spoke again nearly five minutes had gone by, and Tony had resorted to picking away at a few stray bits of sauceless penne to keep from getting bored. No way in hell he’d eat it cold. That would be losing.

Loki stood and brought himself and his meal onto the bed, arranging himself on top of the blankets. He picked up a piece of pasta and held it up between them, looking far too serious.

“Feel the pieces of life that this is made from. Look deeply into it’s smallest interwoven structure. See the tiny flecks cling together to create a whole, bound together by an unseen energy that repels and gravitates. Now look deeper still and to the spaces in-between. The infinitesimal gaps that separate what is real and what is nothingness. This nothingness is what Yggdrasil touches. It is yours to control and manipulate.”

“Wait, the spaces in-between?” Tony sat up straighter “Are you talking about atoms? The space between them is filled by magic?”

“Yes, but no, not filled with, that indicates that there can be an absence of her, which is impossible outside of a handful of realms. It just is. The universe is flush and contaminated with the touch of Yggdrasil and her power. Harnessing this for one's own purposes is the act of using seiðr. Or magic, as you say. Once you can manipulate the spaces, you can influence the particles to move as you wish.”

“Wait, this is particle theory. The faster the molecules move is determined by the amount of energy they have. And you’re moving the space in-between to influence the energy in each particle? How the fuck-“

Loki rolled his eyes

“In essence yes. You can use Yggdrasil to manipulate the particles that make up everything around you. In this way, certain states can be changed, like temperature. Si-“ Loki gave an exasperated sigh “Please stop giving me that expression. Simply try. Without doing so yourself, an explanation would never satisfy.”

“Wait, why hasn’t anyone on earth discovered this before? Surely some idiot stared at something long enough hoping it would move.”

“This is not unheard of on Midgard. There are several who live now with the capability to manipulate and harness small aspects of seiðr, and fewer still who have a larger degree of control. You will find it somewhat easier here though. In this place, you are not touching Yggdrasil as I said before, but your own conviction, which replaces that power in places such as these. When influencing your own mind, this skill comes more easily. Students of the craft often train within their minds in this way to become more adept in the greater world.”

“There are magicians on Earth? SHIELD is not gonna be happy about that.”

“Please be serious. Start slowly and try to warm the pasta by manipulating the conviction within it. The faster the particles move, the warmer it will become.”

Tony opened his mouth to ask another question but was shushed.

“No. You must feel it.” Loki insisted.

“Why are you teaching me this? Saving my ass to protect yourself sure, I can get on board with that, but showing me how your magic works…What’s your angle?”

“I am concerned that you’ll grow bored and cause me more trouble.”

Well fair enough. “Don’t you think I’ll be able to cause more knowing how to use magic?”

“I’m having doubts that you’ll stop speaking long enough to learn it.”

“Well, now that’s just rude.”

“If you know how this realm works and how to consciously control it you may have better authority over the visions that take you. That is something that benefits me greatly. I do not want to get in the habit of rescuing you after each nightmare.”

“But we had so much fun last time.”

“I did enjoy pushing you off the horse.”

“You admit it, you did push me.”

“I can arrange for it to happen again if you’d like.”

“Gimme the damn pasta.” Tony took the penne from Loki’s fingers with a quick snatch and held it in front of his face, inspecting it like he could see each little molecule it was made of. 

Okay. He could do this. Just imagine looking through an electron microscope and seeing all the pretty atoms lined in neat rows… then the space in-between can just be pushed slightly. He imagined the particles moving gently, quivering against the energy.

But the pasta in his fingers still felt cold. Damn.

Okay. New approach. He would break it down into steps.

The more energy the atom received the more it would warm up. So he just needed to make the particles move a little faster. 

With closed eyes he imagined himself holding a framework of little dots, each with enough space between for him to weave his will. He flooded in, filling and stretching between the atoms until they were entirely surrounded by him, encapsulated by his own conviction. Good. Doing great.

Next step; building up speed ever so slowly. He imagined his energy bumping and nudging against the frame, twisting and influencing it into a tiny tremble. Just a little more. He pressed faster, pushing the molecules with intention, forcing their movement to quicken into a flutter. He imagined a hummingbird flapping its wings and tried to match the pace, vibrating until the atoms were nothing more than a blurring mass.

A sharp pain pulled him nauseatingly from concentration and he flinched back, dropping the pasta into blankets.

“Shit, yes!” He exclaimed before stuffing his thumb and finger into his mouth “Oy tid it Oki!” he bragged incoherently “I wurned whyself!”

Loki’s face melted from surprised to amused, and he pressed a hand against his mouth to cover his smile and a quiet breathy laugh.

Tony grinned back through his fingers.

Loki reached forwards and picked up the pasta. His face grew even more delighted then, and he barked out a laugh. 

He dropped it into Tony’s free hand and Tony realized why at once. It was cold.

“You’ve managed to warm up your own fingers.” He chuckled “Well done Stark.”

“Damn.” Tony wiped his wet digits on the blanket and inspected his reddening finger pads “I really thought I had it that time.” He leaned over and grabbed one of the salve jars from the side table and stole a bit of waxy cream. The relief was immediate.

“You should take a break and eat. Your miscalculation could be due to low energy.”

“If you haven’t noticed, that’s what I’m trying to do. Cold dinner, remember?”

“Hand it over then. After that little display, I deem you worthy of a hot meal.” 

Tony was reluctant, but his head was spinning a bit and his back ached. Besides he’d outlasted Loki in stubbornness, so that was victory enough for now.

He held out his bowl and Loki touched the bottom. Without visible effort, the food began unfurling a pleasant garlic and tomato steam and crackling around the edges where oil had pooled with the salt. Tony stabbed with his fork and stuffed several pieces of penne into his mouth without hesitation. It was painfully hot but surprisingly delicious. He hadn’t expected Loki to be able to cook. He said so with watering eyes and a full mouth, which was rewarded with an expression of disgust and amusement.

Loki leaned back into the pillows, extending his hands and pulling into existence a thousand tiny spots of light which shone like small insects in the air above them. The light from the fireplace seemed to diminish and the room darkened to accommodate the faint magic. With a few gestures, he twisted and manipulated the star field of light into some kind of pattern that satisfied him.

Tony leaned back too, shuffling one of the cushions so it wasn’t jabbing him in the neck until he had a good enough view but also wasn’t about to slop his dinner across his face by accident. 

Besides in battle and a few scattered moments in the last few days, Tony had never seen Loki use his magic. Definitely not for something like this. Whatever this was. Some kind of galaxy or light show or- wait a second!

“Is this me? Are you looking inside me right now?”

Loki murmured an approval, twitching his fingers to draw the image closer, slightly left, and then expanding it suddenly so the entire room was enveloped in shining white stars. His hands worked effortlessly. As easily as Tony with screens of data, Loki pulled and dove deeper into the depths of an image like it was more than second nature to him. As easily as breathing he revealed the outline of Tony’s body, nothing more than a corpse shape outlined in light, and then shifted into it, demonstrating the damage to Tony’s bloodstream with fantastic fragmented silver fish that invaded the fluid light lines of his circulatory system. Next, he showed the nerve and tissue damage around Tony’s heart, along with gold flakes that represented the shards of material threatening his life. In the place of the arc reactor, there was a mass of striking darkness. An unknown, he recognized, a variable that Loki couldn’t account for. They viewed his liver and kidneys, damage to his retinas (that was new, yikes), and disrupted neural pathways in his brain, which lit up in a myriad of technicoloured waves. It was mesmerizing. A beyond perfect CT scan of his body with nothing more than a bit of magic. 

He was starting to think that he may have underestimated its potential somewhere between the rainbow light show and his last pieces of dinner when the image changed. 

Loki seemed to relax beside him, his face was cast in darkness now. The lights of Tony’s scan giving way to a scattering of much finer particles that twisted and floated upwards into the heights of the ceiling. They merged and fit together in some places, glowing in varying hues. A few even clung to one another in a lazy spin to visualize a slow-moving far off galaxy. But most of the stars were just a fine spray of silver dust that filled the room in an endless sky, enveloping Tony in a space he had never seen before. 

“The view from Asgard. The sky is always filled with the stars of our universe, even in daylight. It shifts and dances across our world in an endless cycle, just as we move in a cycle. It is never-ending. A constant that precious few appreciate.”

“Can you see Earth from Asgard?”

“Mmm yes, but it is far off. Just there, behind the star system cast in blue light. It is among the closest of the realms to Asgard. Many more are frequented but cannot be seen in this sky.” His voice was so quiet. Barely a whisper in the darkness. A calm sleep-filled murmur that caught Tony off guard. Though he couldn’t see the other mans face he was certain that Loki’s eyes must be closed, pointing out exactly where his planet lay without even glancing at the map. It was known to him just as everything seemed to be. His mastery over healing and star-charts and somehow cooking. Things Tony would never have imagined for Loki were so plainly here for him to see. His enemy more complicated and more intelligent than he had even thought to guess…than he had cared to think about.

He found it both unsettling and comforting.

He wasn’t alone with just a ruthless murderer, or just Thor’s brother, or just the man who invaded New York and threw him out a window. He was a person. Someone who had motivation and interests and tastes for leather chairs and plush bedding. Someone with strange scars and tiny handwriting and fingers that could manipulate magic like he was putting on socks. Sure, that person also liked to keep knives in his boots, had no qualms about harming others to further his own goals and was technically saving Tony just to save himself but… it was more than Tony had realized. Maybe more than he realized about a lot of people. That thought was more sobering than anything. What kind of chairs did Pepper like? He had no idea.

“Loki, what gave you those marks? The ones on your back.”

He was answered with flickering stars, and the soft breathing of a sleeping companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely feedback and comments. You truly make my day with every single one!


	12. Waking

The air was warm and sweet like the blankets had been dusted with cinnamon, and he was buried deep in them. So deep that the light from the morning was far distant and dim, and the noise from the birds outside was quiet and muffled by layers and layers of fur and comfort and twin breaths drawing in slowly the air of a late starting day. It was exactly what bliss felt like. A slow waking in a perfect cocoon. No disruptions. No prodding or door knocking or endless duties. Nothing to do but rest and feel the slow swell of consciousness draw him back into the realm away from his mind and quietly push away his dreamless sleep.

He was so relaxed. His body was limp and malleable in a way it hadn’t felt in an age or more. His chest was loose and complaisant, shoulders pressed into an especially warm bit of blanket. All together it was an absolutely optimal way to wake up.

Until an arm wrapped itself around his stomach and drew him backward, pressing into what was decidedly not a blanket and what was definitely the chest of one: clearly has no boundaries, Anthony Stark.

He stiffened and a bristled chin worked its way into the crook of his neck, breathing a mouthful of wet-hot air straight into his skin, where it condensed into a sticky wet film. 

He suppressed a shudder and stilled his body.

First questions first. How. How in the norns, quickly followed by why and thirdly finished with a who the hell did this man think he was. This bed, this magnificent homage to everything good in sleeping, was his. So for what ungodly reason was it currently occupied by someone other than just him?

And why was that someone Stark? Of all the people.

His mind swept over last night, pulling open mental drawers and pouring pages of memories onto the ground like freshly fallen snow. What happened, what happened? He could remember magic, and setting out his constellation for the night. Some kind of food, Midgardian fare that he’d eaten before. He remembered sitting at the edge of the water, a whip in his hand, half submerged like some kind of great black eel and it was sweating off blood like mucus, mixing with the current and muddying the clear stream with curls of red and pink. 

Ah.

That’s when he’d had the feeling. That strange twinge of wrongness so often ignored by simpler folk. That twist of warning that told him something was just a little amiss. A fracture crooked. 

He’d listened then, ah yes he remembered now. And up over the hills, far far off there was a cry of anguish that sang to him like a morning sparrow sings to the sun. And it cried help me.

And he could not resist. 

There were very few people in Yggdrasil that would call to Loki in such a way. Enough that he could count them all on one hand and still have a spare finger for a guest. This voice that called to him though, it was none of those he had come to expect. It was someone that did not call with their voice but instead with their spirit. A pressure of air around him that pleaded for rescue as a child pleads. Uncertainly. Desperately.

Yes, Loki remembered now. He remembered sealing his wounds and sweeping his mount into existence. He remembered galloping hard, barely holding onto the bare horse with just a bridle and a fist in the mane.

He remembered Anthony’s face looking up at him when Loki held him securely and they retreated from danger back to the mountain cottage. 

He remembered sorrel eyes and a look that stole his heart and his breath and nerve.

A look that saw his own face washed bare and still forgave him. A look that was not of fear or judgment or sympathy. It was understanding, grateful even. 

He felt himself wake now. Truly awaken, under the folds of fur and blanket and sweat pressed between his body and Stark. He remembered that look and felt…confused.

How was it that his once enemy could ever treat him in such a way. Their first moments here together, the argument, the threats, the disbelief, these were things he had expected. But the nightmares, and the false people and his own willingness to die, this married with that look he had given Loki. It made no sense. How could someone so willing to end their own life be so willing to forgive. Why would he even care to forgive Loki, and why then?

Was it because Loki had just saved his life? Surely. But then wouldn’t Anthony have withdrawn after? Once the adrenaline settled wouldn’t this strange mortal have retreated to just the same fear and anger and dislike he had always shown Loki?

But now he was tangled up in him, clutching Loki to his chest like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. Pressing their cheeks together and breathing in the smell of his skin. Probably the smell of sweat and blood and rain, cleansed only by a moment over the stove and hours under the sweet cinnamon-scented furs that they shared.

And how again had that come to pass? He had taken this bed out for Tony. Why was it now that he was in it? He couldn’t recall. He had tried to teach Stark a bit of simple conviction, something to keep his mind off the terrors outside. Then what? A quick study of the mortals afflictions and…

He’d just fallen asleep.

Well, that was unusual. Though he supposed that it had been a rather long time since he’d slept in the first place. Two days at least, ever since Thor had woken him on Asgard and dragged him down to this Norns forsaken planet.

For a party, of all things.

Those humans hadn’t looked down on him either. They hadn’t seen him as a threat, not with Thor there (even crying and pathetic as he had been). And damn if he hadn’t just let Stark die on that table. He wouldn’t have had to do any of this. No whipping, no horses, no looks and certainly no tangling up in his own bed with this pathetic excuse for a mortal man. He was barely halfway through his life and already coming apart at the seems, mentally and physically. He was barely even a person at this point. Just some kind of fleshy bit of stubbornness held together with sheer insufferable wit.

And clinging to him. Whispering to him. Whispering.

Loki seized his thoughts into silence to listen. Never moving, no. He didn’t want to startle the creature. He just lay very still and listened to the quiet breath against his cheek. The whisper of wind that brushed his hair just so.

“Why did you leave me?”

It was some kind of nonsense. The mortal must have been tangled up in dreams, just as he always seemed to be. His mind never stopped whirring and producing. He loved the sound of his own voice so much that even in sleep he felt it necessary to speak. Somehow that wasn’t surprising to Loki, though that didn’t make it any less unsettling.

“I told you I loved you, and you left.”

Loki grimaced. So he was being held in place of some kind of past lover. A tryst gone quite wrongly by the sounds of it. Well good, at least he didn’t have to worry about any kind of advances from the man, he was clearly already lamenting something long gone. 

Though the tone of his voice did leave some kind of… feeling… in him. A little speck of something sad. He didn’t like it. 

“Why does everyone always leave?”

A little knife twisted gently in Loki’s heart. The words might have come out of his own mouth for how familiar they felt to him. 

The fingers gripping his chest clutched just a little tighter, drawing Loki in even more than he thought was possible. Stark’s breathing had changed, hitched slightly at the end of each breath. Shuddering sometimes. 

A streak of hot slid down his neck and pooled in the place where his collarbones gave way.

Tears.

The tears of Anthony Stark who clung to him without knowing who he was. Thinking him some woman or man or beast who would not return his affection. And everyone else in his life too, or so he claimed. Though from what he knew of Stark, this did ring true.

The deaths of his parents and his temporary guardian. The death of a close family friend. The distant looks from his allies in the entryway of Stark tower. Eyes that were sad but not broken by the news of Anthony’s death.

The same kind of look he received from his father when he decided to let go. 

“They are not worthy of your attention.” He felt himself whisper into the darkness.

The breathing on his face paused for a bracing moment, then resumed with one deep draw inward, sucking in breath along with wakefulness. Anthony pushed away from him and turned, sweeping the huge swath of blankets off of them both and over the edge of the bed like a great waterfall. The heat of the room was equaled to the blankets, and no chill took him. This he was grateful for. The last thing he wanted was a rush of cold air to break him from this morning reverie.

The bed shifted and Tony slipped out of bed and immediately swore in simple stupid words.

Loki rolled slowly towards him and glared. “Must you always use such uncreative language?”

Tony was leaning back onto the bed now, holding one of his bandaged feet which was now staining the wrappings with a fresh coat of bright blood. “Oh you’re still here, are you princess? How did you like sleeping in my bed?”

“It was excellent aside from the company.” Loki sat up slowly and wiped a hand down his neck, sweeping up a glossy shine of tears and breath and whatever else the mortal had leaked onto him. “You tend to drool.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently participating in Nanowrimo, and this is a piece I cracked out in one sitting WAY too late last night. It's a bit different from the normal kind of nonsense going on here, so forgive me.


End file.
